


tony stark and the best (worst) summer of his life

by cryptic_potato



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: A Really Long Redemption Story, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Angst, Character Development, Child Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Depression, Drug Use, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Established Relationship, F/M, Fist Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Internalized Homophobia, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mystery, No Smut, Not a Happy Story, Panic Attacks, Past Sexual Abuse, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Plot Twists, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Slow Burn, Thriller, Tony Stark-centric, im so sorry, inspired by IT and Stranger Things shit, no beta we die like men, preteen avengers, tony stark starts off as a priss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2020-10-01 20:14:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20391754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptic_potato/pseuds/cryptic_potato
Summary: Let’s get one thing straight: Tony Stark did nothing to deserve this.He’s a fourteen year old genius, and hasn’t even been to high school yet. He has inventions to design, movies to watch, beds to sleep in, and a terrible father to sass. He doesn’t understand why Howard sends him to summer camp, and surely doesn’t understand why the resident power couple is so interested in him.Then he uncovers a conspiracy. Campers going missing left and right, a mysterious counselor by the name of Brock Rumlow, a bag of blood soaked clothes at the bottom of the lake, and a plethora of underground tunnels connected to the sewer. Then he’s not even confused anymore. He’s just pissed.





	1. better than the rest

**Author's Note:**

> what’s up guys it’s your boy, this is the project that i’ve been working on ever since i finished up my latest fic !! some notes before we get started:
> 
> 1) the first chapter or two will start out a bit slow. the plot will pick up as we go along. when it does, it would only be right of me to warn you about the potential triggers:  
-child abuse (considering the fact that howard is in this story, it shouldn’t be surprising)  
-internalized homophobia  
-brief homophobia in general  
-depictions of violence  
-at one point a dead body is mentioned. nothing graphic but...it’s still there  
-other stuff that i’ll add to the tags as we go
> 
> 2) tony/steve/bucky centric!! some sorta kinda maybe one-sided pepper/tony too. endgame relationship is definitely the former. 
> 
> 3) i thrive off of comments and kudos!! it keeps me inspired to write:)
> 
> 4) my instagram is @val_kurry
> 
> buckle up bitches. this isn’t your typical redemption story.

Before he can even get a damn word out, Howard punches Tony right in the nose. Rings and all.

“You’re, by far, the most spoiled little brat I’ve ever seen,” Howard sneers, watching as his son clutches his bleeding mouth and nose in his hands. “I don’t give a shit about if you want to go or not. You’re going. This camp—You’re gonna learn how to get your hands dirty. Learn to _rough_ it. You’ve gone soft, boy, but all you need is a good push.”

“I’m busy,” Tony hisses.

“Yeah? And I don’t give a shit. Start packing.”

“You—You can’t force me,” he says as clearly as he can, voice muffled and croaky from the blood oozing from his mouth and nose. “I have projects to work on, _prototypes_, I don’t need to go to some damn children’s sleep away camp for an entire month. It’s pointless.”

Howard hits him again, and it doesn’t take long for Tony to stop arguing.

—

In all honesty, it’s not that he doesn’t want to go because he’s too busy—that’s complete bullshit. He’d find out a way to work on projects at the stupid camp regardless. There are lots of ways to busy himself despite unavailability to his fancy labs or whatever. Another pro is that he’ll be away from home for a month, and that means being away from Howard. He hasn’t really left the house all summer, unless he’s being dragged to dinner parties or something.

Of course, there’s also the fact that he just doesn’t feel like staying in a crusty old cabin with nine other boys his age and singing fucking kumbaya around a stupid fireplace. And then there’s the heat. And the mosquitoes. Fucking god, the mosquitoes. He’ll need to pack bug spray.

“Jarvis,” he says to the empty room, “Order bug spray. The more expensive the better. Use dad’s credit card.”

The AI responds instantly. “The most expensive eight ounce bottle on the market is fifty six dollars. Would you like to place the order, Master Tony?”

“Order three of those. Just because I can.”

“Order has been placed. It will arrive in two days.”

“Thanks, Jar. You’re the only thing that keeps me sane, these days.”

“I’d hardly say that you’re still sane,” Jarvis snarks, and he doesn’t say anything else after that.

Tony reads up on the summer camp/prison he’s being sent to, and it seems innocent enough. There’s activities like rock climbing, kayaking, canoeing, go-kart racing (seriously, what kind of camp has go-karts?), and even paintball. Like, the gentler, more kid friendly paintball guns, but they’re still paintball guns. He’s definitely gonna murder someone’s ass playing that, and he’s gonna love every second of it.

Not that he’s excited, of course.

When Jarvis informs him that Howard has scheduled for him to leave for camp the next morning, he groans. Great fucking job at communicating, dad, it’s not like Tony doesn’t have things to do.

Practically dragging himself out of bed and to his feet, Tony slams open his closet door, making a loud noise that he’s sure echoes through the entire mansion just because he can.

He kind of, just... throws a whatever clothes he can see into his suitcase. A bunch of sweatshirts and sweatpants, even though it’s freakishly hot outside, because he would rather throw himself into a dumpster than wear anything exposing his arms or whatever. It may be hot, yes, but Tony won’t bother changing into less covering clothes. And, no, he won’t tell you why.

Then he packs a mini-fridge, just because.

By the time all of his bags are laid out, Tony’s got over three luggages, two duffel bags, and an additional full-length mirror, because he wants to be extra and show off how high maintenance he is. He also has entire box dedicated to bars of chocolate and other candies, but he’s willing to share with anyone who gets on his good side.

“Sir, would you like me to keep a full report of everything that happens in the mansion while you’re gone?”

Shit. Jarvis.

Tony can’t leave Jarvis. He won’t survive. No, it’s not because Jarvis is his only friend—that would be just plain sad. Yeah. Totally pathetic.

He spent over a year designing Jarvis, writing his code and programming his personality, showing the AI how to hack Howard’s schedules and cameras for Tony’s convenience, and he’s still constantly making improvements. By this point, Jarvis is one of the most intelligent robots in America.

There’s no way that Tony will be able to adjust to life without Jarvis. For an entire month, no less.

“Fuck, Jar,” Tony says, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. “What are we gonna do with you?”

“I presume you’re thinking of something outlandish and morally travailing to spend hours on?”

“You know me so well. Bring me the drafts for that idea I had back in February.”

Tony spends all night downloading Jarvis’ consciousness into a hand-built electronic wrist attachment, making him completely mobile—it’s a huge accomplishment, from Tony’s perspective. He used to always spend all day at school miserable and tired, waiting for the moment he could come home and pester Jarvis about new coding improvements or plans to sneak out of the mansion. (Jarvis quickly became accustomed to deleting the security footage of Tony climbing out of his window at night.) Even then, the robot’s capabilities were limited to what happened at home. Now, he has his own personal assistant that he can take wherever he goes.

By morning, he’s clinging onto consciousness with a cup of black coffee in his weak hand, but, hey. Worth it. Now he has an artificially intelligent computer literally sitting on his wrist.

“Sir,” the familiar yet smaller voice says from Tony’s watch—he’ll have to get used to that. “Howard left a message for you seven seconds ago. He said for you to come downstairs, and that a chauffeur is waiting to help load the car and take you to Shield Sleep-away Camp.”

“Shield. Sounds prestigious.”

“He also said for you to haul ass. Shall I answer?”

“No. Leave that asshole on read. Better yet, tell him to suck my dick.”

“That would be unwise.”

Tony scoffs, grabbing his bags.

—

All in all, as he steps through the doors of the front office, Tony rules the camp to be a major disappointment, even though he didn’t have any expectations to begin with.

He checks in on his own, to the lady at the counter’s surprise, as she obviously expects for him to have a parent in tow. His short 5’4 stature doesn’t exactly help him look more mature, either.

“Name?” she asks.

“Tony Stark. My father already sent in the medical and registration forms last week, to my understanding, and he sent the check here as well. He was informed on the phone that it would be fine.”

“Oh. Yes, I’m aware. Is your father...”

“Howard Stark? Sadly, yes.”

Poor girl. She almost gapes. It’s not surprising, though—his father is a household name. “How old are you, sir?”

Tony sighs, looking at the floor. He chooses to ignore that she addresses him so formally. “Fourteen.”

She types something up on her computer.

“Okay, sir. You’ll be staying at the Emmaus cabin, so you can have your dad drive to the male cabin area where he can drop off all of your belongings and help you set up. Your cabin counselor will explain the rules, as well as introduce you to the other boys in your cabin. Have a great day!”

Her smile is so fake that Tony almost cringes as he leaves.

—

The chauffeur—god, Tony can’t remember his name for the life of him—pulls the black Tesla right in front of the Emmaus cabin, a shitty little thing, with an air conditioner poking out of the side and dead leaves covering the ground around it. It’s surrounded by other cabins that look exactly like it, other than the small sign by the door that says the cabin name.

Immediately, Tony realizes, as he drags a suitcase inside, the Tesla is a bit of an attention drawer. A bunch of boys that happen to be walking by see his car and his chauffeur, staring and talking amongst themselves as Tony shrugs it off.

And, well, the cabin’s interior isn’t any better than the exterior, disappointingly enough.

It’s not horrible. It’s just crowded, with five bunk beds and a mess of belongings everywhere. A bunch of dirty clothes on the floor, and he’s already tempted to form an escape plan. Jarvis can help him with that, it wouldn’t be hard.

“New?”

Tony nearly drops his bag onto his foot, head turning to the person behind him. “What?”

The boy, probably Tony’s age, with dark skin and an unimpressed snark, glances him up and down. “You’re new, right?”

Scoffing, Tony dumps his belongings onto the only barren bunk bed. He does not have time to deal with snobby kids who think they’re better than him. “Yeah. What about it?”

“People have been talking,” the boy says, strolling right past Tony and going to one of the beds—the bunk right next to him, good grief—and digs through one of the bags, pulling out a water bottle. “Saying that Tony Stark, one of the richest teenagers in America, was going to come this week. Lots of girls are going insane about it. I just didn’t expect for you to be so...” He pauses. “I don’t know. Un-intimidating.”

“_Excuse_ me, I am _very_ intimidating,” Tony says, throwing a hand to cover his heart in offense.

“You’re as tall as some of the twelve years old campers.”

“I’m not short, I’m fun sized—“

“Cool it. There are some assholes here who won’t tolerate your snarking as much as I will. Let’s just say that... if you pick an argument with the wrong person,” he says, “The first aid cabin is always open.”

Tony crosses his arms. “You don’t scare me.”

“I’m not trying to.” The boy holds his arm out, offering to shake hands, and Tony obliges, even if he isn’t thrilled about it. “I’m James Rhodes. _You_ can call me—“

“I’m gonna call you Rhodey,” says Tony, shortly.

Now, don’t get him wrong—Tony has absolutely no intentions to make friends here. He’s beyond that, at this point, and there are more important things on his mind than feelings or human interaction or whatever.

But, there’s always the possibility that what Rhodey is saying will be true. Back in school, all of the popular jock assholes tried to pick fights with Tony because everyone assumed he was a snobby asshole since he didn’t talk to anyone. Tony got used to it, fought back, sued the parents, got his revenge, rinse and repeat.

Having an ally or two to show him the ropes would be an obvious way to make it through the month with easy sailing.

Play along.

Rhodey frowns. “_Rhodey_?”

“Yep. Rhodey. I’m calling you Rhodey, don’t fight it,” he grins.

Rhodey doesn’t seem impressed, but he doesn’t protest any further. Instead, he tosses his water bottle to his other hand, circles around to the door, and clears his throat. “You coming?”

“Coming where?”

“Activities are still in progress. Rest of the cabin won’t be back until after lunch, so you probably won’t meet them until later, since the activity track sign-up isn’t open to new campers until lunchtime. I can take you there later.”

“Oh. Well, since I don’t exactly have any activities, where the hell am I supposed to go?”

Rhodey sighs.

“You can come with me. I’ll just ditch my track and give you a tour of the camp—I doubt that Maria will give a shit.”

Grinning, Tony follows the boy, gears already turning in his head.

—

“No, what the fuck, I already told you that you need a life jacket yesterday, Barnes, I’m not going to warn you again—“

“You’re such a bum, Maria!” Bucky whines, tearing his shirt off and paying no mind to the bright yellow life jacket that the woman tries to shove in his direction. “Anyways, you didn’t make Thor go there last time, this is obvious favoritism.”

“I didn’t need to make him go to the nurse for a paper cut. You’re making stuff up.”

“It’s just a minor scrape!”

“Barnes, your knee is gushing blood, go to the fucking nurse.”

“Bucky,” Steve says sternly, grabbing the boy’s bag for him and slinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll take you to first aid. Come on.”

“Steve, you know that i hate that bitch at the office. She treats me like some charity case cus’ of that time I clogged the water slide with Sam.”

“Bucky, please,” Steve whines, and he pulls out the damn puppy eyes. The fucking puppy eyes. Steve knows that Bucky can’t resist those, the little punk.

Their track counselor, a brunette woman with a squared jaw named Maria Hill, sighs and rests her sunglasses on her head. Bucky and her are constantly bickering and going at it—but she has a soft spot for all her campers, letting them get away with basically anything, despite her stern demeanor. “What did you cut yourself on?”

Bucky shrugs, shoulders hunched as he looks down at the floor. “A kayak.”

“A _kayak_?”

“I dropped it on my leg while Thor was helping me drag it out of the water,” the boy admits.

Maria sighs again.

“Steve,” she says, walking away towards the other track campers, where Bucky can faintly see Sam throwing a paddle into the green lake water, despite Bruce’s protests. “Take your boyfriend to the first aid clinic. Make sure he gets bandaged up. If that bitchy nurse tries to give him shit, tell her to radio me, and don’t mention the kayak. Tell her he tripped.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve says, and drags a groaning Bucky away, down the trail and towards the main walkway.

—

“This is the snack shack,” Rhodey says, pointing at a log building with roofed area outside, filled with bench tables. A counselor in a window sells chips and soda to sweaty children as they wait in line, holding coins and dollars as they look at the price menu above the window. “Everyone gets it as an activity once a day. I take track 45, so me and my group get it as our second activity. During snack shack, you can go to the sports pavilion or the volleyball net or the gaga pit—“

“What the hell is a gaga pit?” Tony asks.

“It’s, like, this fenced circle with sand on the bottom. It’s like dodgeball but there’s no teams.”

“I’ve never heard of that in my life.”

“You don’t seem like the type of person to get out of the house much, so I’m not surprised,” Rhodey grins. “Anyways, do you have any idea what track you want to do? Since you’re fourteen you can either do 43 with the thirteen year olds, 44 with the fourteen year olds, or 45 with us.”

“‘Us’?”

“The rest of the Emmaus cabin, we’re all fifteen. We’re also all friends, so we chose the same track. It can be... hectic, at times, since Sam and Bucky are basically walking crackheads, but I’d recommend more than the thirteen or fourteen year olds. They’re obnoxious.”

“So I should do track 45,” Tony says.

“Do what you want.”

“Then I want to do track 45,” he says.

More people for him to entertained by, he supposes.

The rest of the little tour that Rhodey gives him goes by quickly; a few girls whisper and stare in his direction, which is expected—Tony is above average in the looks category. No acne or anything, with dark brown hair that rests on the top of his head and a skinny, slightly muscular frame. He’s practically bombarded with teenage girls and boys alike, who all reluctantly back off once they find out that he’s only fourteen.

As it is, Tony’s pretty tired of being used as eye candy all the time. Not to be cocky or anything. He’s just... bored of it.

Rhodey’s a hoot, he realizes, and he’s someone that Tony is glad that he can bicker with. He’s a worthy guy to snark to, because he always keeps it up and snarks at Tony back, which is always fun. It’s entertaining. It’s better than people constantly writing Tony off as ‘rude’ or ‘snobby’ since he has a bit of a loudmouth.

As for the woods? Well, it’s... pretty.

The surrounding forest and trees are a lush green, the ground covered in leaves and y’all grass where it hasn’t been covered in pavement or cleared off for walking paths. The lakes are kinda alarmingly green, but Tony asked already and apparently no one has died of fungus or parasites or whatever, so he assumes it’s safe.

The activities seem fun, too. He catches sight of a fucking water slide, like, three yellow ones with an actual pool at the bottom. Lifeguards stationed almost everywhere. Swimming, canoeing, kayaking, something that looks like a group of bounce houses/obstacle course things on the water, and, well, a lot of stuff that he hasn’t even seen yet.

Things finally start looking up for him, even if the mosquitoes are annoying. Maybe this summer won’t suck as horribly as he thought.

“Hey, Stark! I didn’t think I’d see your faggot ass here!”

So of course Johnny Hammer has to shove him to the floor and ruin his good mood.

—

Steve is a small, lanky little thing.

He’s only 5’5, barely weighing in at 110 pounds, with a laundry list of health problems that he wouldn’t list off for a million dollars. Asthma is one of them, the one that people notice first, and scoliosis is another. That’s all he’ll say without feeling too self conscious.

When he struggles to carry the weight of his annoying boyfriend Bucky, who practically lays on top of Steve as they stumble down the pavement and towards the first aid clinic, it’s almost pathetically laughable.

“Bucky,” Steve huffs, shoving the boy off of him and watching as he stumbles back onto his bleeding leg. “Bucky, you’re so annoying. Will you please just—help me here?”

“I don’t wanna go to the nurse. It smells like ass in there!”

“You need a band aid,” Steve groans, throwing Bucky’s arm over his shoulders again. He isn’t going down without a fight, that’s for sure. “I’m never kissing you again. You’re so fucking—“

“Jesus, Hammer, did you have a brain tumor for breakfast!?”

The two teenager snap their heads in the direction of Rhodes’ troubled voice, coming from the snack shack area—a crowd gathers around something that Steve can’t see, but he hears the commotion of all the children and teens chattering and yelling.

Before Steve can even say anything, Bucky is running towards the crowd.

“Come on, faggot,” some asshole rich kid named Johnny Hammer spits, looking down at some—some person—on the sidewalk. Probably some kid he decided to pick a fight with. “Get up. Let’s show everyone how big and bad Tony Stark is!”

“Eat a dick, Hammer!” the boy on the ground growls.

By the time Steve is able to shove his way through the crowd to see the madness, Rhodes is in front of Hammer, arms spread out in an effort to make peace.

“Look, man,” he says, voice threateningly calm, “Stark is just seeing the camp. He’s not here to pick fights, he’s not here to show off or anything, he’s here like the rest of us.”

“Oh, sure I am,” the boy—Tony Stark—says as he makes his way to the feet, and, well, all Steve can say is that he’s comparable to a chihuahua who forgot to take its anger medication. “I’m definitely not stuck in this godforsaken camp just to show off my monster dick to douchebags like Johnny Hammer, that would just be—“

He’s cut off with a punch to the nose, and suddenly Steve is being held back.

“Steve, no!” Bucky yells, holding the blonde by the stomach as he struggles and thrashes, trying to throw himself into the fight.

Everyone starts moving. The surrounding crowd struggles and chants, some running to get counselors, Johnny Hammer towering over the boy curled into a ball on the floor, and Rhodey being pulled away by Pepper Potts as he yells.

Steve expects for Stark to get his ass kicked. To be hit and thrown around, until he’s bleeding on the floor and has to be wheeled to the office to be sent to the hospital. That’s how all the prep, above-it-all kids end up once they’re called out on their bullshit. The difference between those kids and Stark is that Stark was apparently minding his own business. So, one would only assume that he wouldn’t do a good job at putting up a fight after being caught off guard.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is the way that Stark kicks Hammer straight in the damn nose.

A crack, and then the larger teen is flying back, nose bleeding as he holds his hands over the injury—blood drips down onto his chin and down to the floor, where it soaks into the sidewalk.

Stark is on his feet before anyone can even blink, throwing himself on top of his opponent and hitting and punching like an animal. Then they’re both on their feet, Hammer’s moves all sloppy as he misses, while Stark moves with the grace of a very angry cat, carrying himself on his feet with fluidity as he places each hit with intense precision.

Hammer manages to knock Stark down by kicking his knees in, toppling the smaller boy over and straddling him, wrapping his hands around his throat and squeezing. Steve is almost able to break free of Bucky’s grasp, he’s so fucking close, that damn kid must be suffocating by now—

“HEY!! BREAK IT UP!!”

Maria Hill breaks through the crowd, grabbing Hammer by the collar and throwing him away from Tony, who’s hyperventilating and red but he still looks ready to fight.

“What he fuck is this?” she asks—more like she commands—and no one knows what to say. They’re dead silent. Rhodey is the first one to speak.

“Hammer came up to Tony and picked a fight for no reason. Tony was defending himself—“

“He kicked me in the nose!” Hammer yells, gargled from the blood.

“Shut up,” Hill says, one hand on her hip and the other pinching the bridge of her nose. “Hammer, get your ass to the nurse. Better yet, go to Fury’s office afterwards. I don’t tolerate trying to strangle any of our campers, newbies or otherwise.”

“Fuckin’ bitch,” the teen sneers, and Tony starts launching himself at him again, caught and held back by a very unimpressed looking Pepper.

Hill scoffs. “That’s it!! You’re getting written up!”

“You can’t fucking do that! You already gave me two in the past three weeks!”

“Good!” she growls, “That means you’re banned from camp for the rest of the summer! Pack your bags, call your parents, and if I ever see your lousy ass on the property ever again,” she pauses, stepping closer to the teenager, towering over him as he slightly quivers, “you better believe that your ass is grass.”

Hammer leaves, but not before flipping the woman off and spitting at Tony’s feet.

“Everyone away,” Hill says, watching the crowd dissipate as Rhodes and her help Tony stand.

“Well,” Bucky mutters, so that only Steve can hear, “I think we just found ourselves a new muse.”

Steve scoffs.

—

“So let me get this straight,” a tall girl with straight, strawberry blonde hair scowls, crossing her arms as she stares Tony down like a hawk. She stands right next to Rhodey, her figure slim and nothing short of intimidating.

She’s pretty.

“You—you stepped foot in this camp less than half an hour ago, and already, you managed to provoke Johnny Hammer enough that he almost strangled you to death in front of a bunch of eight year olds?”

“There were eleven year olds there, too,” Rhodey defends.

“Yeah, and besides,” Tony mutters, holding an ice pack to his swollen cheek as the nurse wraps up his scraped up arm, “I didn’t do shit—“

“Language,” the nurse says, some lady named Bonquisha or something. She remains ignored by the three teens.

“I didn’t do anything to him. He went up to me and shoved me to the floor!”

“How the hell did he even know who you are?”

Frowning, Tony rolls his eyes as he puts the ice pack down on the table that he sits atop of. “School.”

“What?”

“He bullied me back in school,” Tony grumbles. “Well, I wouldn’t say bullied. More along the lines of, him and my dad are business competitors, and HammerTech is pissed that my dad stole some of their best employees, so Johnny Hammer started taking his dad’s frustrations out on me. That’s all there is to it. Apparently it was a surprise to him that I’d be in this shithole of a camp in the first place.”

“Well, you don’t seem like the type of person to ‘rough it,’ per say,” the girl says.

“What are you—“

“You’re literally wearing a rolex,” replies Rhodey.

“It was a birthday present from my Aunt Madeline!”

“It’s excessive. And, evidently, a lot of people feel the same way. Johnny was just an example of some of the pricks here. You’re fresh meat, Stark,” the girl says, “And lots of people will try to take advantage of that. This camp isn’t exactly the most peaceful.”

“I feel like I know why my dad sent me here, then,” the short boy scowls. “He probably wanted this shit to happen.”

Rhodey and the girl turn to each other, whispering.

“Look,” she says, barely loud enough for Tony to hear, “If you’re gonna shield this kid for the entire time he’s here, you’re gonna become a target too—“

“It was a one time thing,” whispers Rhodey. “As long as he minds his business and stays low, I doubt that we’ll get another repeat of today. Hammer was an asshole, we all knew that—if anything, we should be thanking Tony for getting the guy kicked out.”

“That’s not my—“

“I’m right here, you know,” Tony grits out.

“He’s gonna be fine, Pepper, I’ll make sure of it. He’s in the Emmaus cabin, for fuck’s sake, and you know how serious Thor and Steve are about that kind of shi—stuff.”

“Steve is as intimidating as a golden retriever puppy,” the girl, Pepper, says. Something tells Tony that he’ll be thinking of her name more often.

“Okay, but you—you saw him at the fight earlier. He was this close to decking Hammer in the face on his own, his boyfriend had to hold him back.”

“Yeah, and—“

“His boyfriend?” Tony interrupts, before he even realizes how douchey he sounds. When he does, his stomach drops to his fucking dick, and he immediately wishes he never said it. Out of context, he must sound like such an asshole. Calling out the mere mention of a boy having a boyfriend.

Rhodey looks at him, eyebrow raised, and Pepper glares daggers at Tony—looking unamused. “Yes?” she says, grimly. “Problem?”

He draws back. “N-No problem, that’s not what I... I, just... I’m not a homophobe, I swear.”

And it’s true! He isn’t a homophobe, isn’t someone who constantly shits on the gay community like Howard does—it just, uh, caught him off guard to hear something about a boy his age having a boyfriend. It feels so damn foreign to him. Maybe it’s that fact that the word ‘faggot’ is thrown at him so often, shoved down his throat even when he wasn’t old enough to know what it meant. Being gay is supposed to be wrong, in Howard’s eyes. God hates gays, he says.

Tony never understood Howard.

“There’s no problem,” he says again, desperately trying to get his point made. “No problem at all. I literally don’t care.”

Rhodey and Pepper don’t say anything for a minute, and Tony feels... nervous. He never feels nervous around people his age. Normally, it’s the other way around.

“Okay, man,” Rhodey says. “I believe you.”

“You do understand that if you, for whatever reason, do have a problem with Steve and Bucky,” Pepper seethes, pointing a finger at Tony’s chest threateningly, “We’re going to have an issue.”

Speak of the devil, apparently, because as soon as the girl finishes speaking, the door of he first aid cabin bursts open, a pair of two boys yelling at each other as they come inside.

“I told you, Bucky,” the smaller one with bright blue eyes and blonde hair says, arm linked with the other one as they bicker. Adorable. They’re oblivious to the other people in the room, making their way to the back table where the nurse grumbles to herself, pulling out even more bandages. “I said that I don’t need you to hold me back, you’re not my damn impulse control, you’re just annoying!”

“You were gonna get molly wopped by that Stark guy,” Bucky retorts, plopping himself on top of a table. His knee is practically split open, bleeding down his calve, but he doesn’t seem to care. Other than his injury, he’s nothing short of charming, with his baby blue eyes and his dark brown hair. “Nurse Bonquisha, oh how I’ve missed you.”

The nurse glares at the boy. “Again, Barnes?”

“What do you mean again?” Steve says.

“Your boyfriend came to me yesterday after he fell head first onto a rock after jumping off the roof of your cabin. You didn’t see the bruise?”

Gasping, the blonde hits his boyfriend over the head with his fist. With his heart warming up, Tony can admit that they’re simply adorable together. They’re both like polar opposites in appearance, yet they’re exactly the type of boys that Tony finds—

Fuck. Disregard that, please.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” Steve yells.

“You woulda’ been mad at me,” Bucky defends. “Not my fault that you’re—“

Rhodey clears his throat. The boys go silent.

“Lover’s quarrel?” Pepper asks.

Leg bandaged, Bucky hops down from the table, eyes landing on Tony—shit. “Holy shit! You’re the new kid!”

“Guilty,” Tony mutters.

“You put up a good fight with Hammer, I’ll give you that,” Bucky grins, tucking his hands into his pockets as he looks Tony up and down. “Wow, you’re somethin’ else, aren’t you, Stark?”

“Keep your crummy eyes to yourself. He’s fresh meat.”

“You also have? Oh yeah!! A _boyfriend_!” says Steve.

“Aight, aight, I’m just tryna see what the kid is all about, man!” Bucky says, Brooklyn accent seeping through his speech as he throws his hands in the air. “He’s just... new looking.”

Degradingly enough, Tony blushes, looking down at his knees.

“You’re more reserved than I thought you’d be,” Steve says, looking amused. “I’ve heard a lot about you, uh, being a bit of a priss. Not the type of kid who would come here.”

“Wasn’t by choice,” he says, regaining his bravado back, thank god. “My asshole of a father isn’t exactly—“

“You mean Howard Stark?” Steve asks.

“Yeah. Howard. Well, he sent me here, mostly to punish me for staying in the house all summer and being a floozy. That’s what he said.”

Bucky’s face twists up. “But Howard Stark, my dad met him at a convention or something, and he said he was really nice.”

“Howard’s two faced. Trust me. He punched me in the nose just three days ago because I told him I didn’t want to come here for a fucking month.”

The four other teens in the room gape at Tony.

“I’m gonna punch him in the nose if I ever see him.”

“Steve, no,” mutters Rhodey.

“What cabin?” Bucky asks.

“Emmaus.”

“Holy shit, you’re with us,” Steve says as Bucky, for whatever reason, picks him up bridal style and tucks his face into his neck. Fucking god. That’s so cute. The shorter boy doesn’t even look like he gives a damn, just keeps talking to Tony casually. “I feel horrible for you. You’re not going to get any sleep.”

“I can see flashlights on in your cabin from the other side of camp,” says Pepper. “My cabin hates yours. You don’t let anyone get any sleep.”

“I don’t really sleep anyways,” remarks Tony.

“Sam and Steve are constantly yelling at each other in the middle of the night. Do you own any earplugs?”

“I’m not an idiot. Of course I do.”

“How many pairs?”

“I have an entire duffel bag full of them.”

Rhodey grimaces. The nurse kicks all of the teens out of the room.

—

“Tell me about the boy,” says Jasper Sitwell, hands laced together as his legs rest on top of his desk, expression dark as he stares at the new attendance sign up sheet.

“Fourteen. About 5’3. Picked a fight with one of the senior campers, Johnny Hammer. Hill kicked the guy out this morning.”

“Provoked?”

“Not sure, no one has written a report for it yet.”

“Hm. What time is it now?”

“...Around four fifty-seven. We still have time before the campers wake up for flag raising.”

“Go to the office, see if you can get any records on the kid. We know the basics, of course, son of Howard Stark and possible heir to the industry. If the juice is going to be worth the squeeze, we need to know everything possible.”

“On it,” Rumlow says, already turning for the exit.

“Oh, and, Brock?”

“Yeah?”

Sitwell rolls his chair back to the window behind him, peeking through the closed blinds. In the distance, the Emmaus cabin’s lights flicker on and off, the boys inside obviously not asleep.

“Don’t let Fury find out,” he says slowly. “Maria or Coulson, either. They won’t hesitate to tell him of anything suspicious, and trust me. This isn’t going to very pleasant.”

“Got it.”

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave your thoughts:)


	2. never have i ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know what your problem is, Stark?”
> 
> “You’re going to have to elaborate on that. I have plenty of problems.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapter!! woo woo!!!
> 
> thank you guys for all your wonderful support on the first chapter:) with all of you motivating me, i managed to finish this pretty quickly!! i hope you enjoy!

—

What Tony realizes after the first 24 hours is that he certainly doesn’t understand teenagers. 

The senior campers all range from thirteen to sixteen, and almost all of them must either be, A, on crack, or B, have terrible parents. Why else would this kid—named Peter Quill—steal a fishing pole from the shed, using it to retrieve a pair of socks he threw off the bridge? For fun, no less? The only logical answer must be drugs. 

Others that Tony meets are either terrified of him or try to be buddy-buddy with him. He can’t count the number of random girls who’ve tried to get his number in the past few hours, and the number of awkward kids who look at him as if he’s the president of the United States is almost comical. 

Tony soaks up the attention like a sponge. A very, very bored sponge. 

The previous day, he was able to briefly meet all the members of his cabin at dinner. They only barely acknowledged his existence, which he was sort of annoyed about, but it also felt like a breath of fresh air. 

First, there’s Bruce. A short, shy kid, with thick framed glasses and dark brown curls, who’s probably the only one that Tony can click with on an intellectual level. They spent a good chunk of the night discussing gamma radiation and the effects of it on the human brain. Tony has a feeling that he’ll like Bruce.

Then, there’s a tall, blonde jock named Thor. He can only be described as sunshiny, Tony supposes, with the way that he booms in any room he walks into and his bright, charming laugh. He and Bruce are constantly staring at each other with longing expressions, so Tony assumes the obvious. 

Steve, Bucky, and Rhodey need no introduction; they’re the exact same as when Tony first met them. Rhodey is logical, jokes around occasionally but for the most part treats Tony like he doesn’t exactly know what to make of him. Tony doesn’t blame him, honestly. Then, there’s Barnes and Noble (he came up with that ship name himself, and he’s damn proud of it), who are the ‘it’ couple in the entire camp. No one really dares to mess with them, and Tony doesn’t really understand why at first, not until he sees the fiery redhead named Natasha Romanov that they hang out with. Tony wouldn’t blame anyone for being terrified of her. 

Clint Barton, whom Tony first discovers because he jumps face first off of Tony’s bunk and down to the floor, is a human train wreck of a boy. He’s covered in white bandages from all the scruffs and scrapes he endures, and he frequently steals coffee from the counselor’s office as the rest of the cabin is eating breakfast at the dining hall. 

Sam Wilson is basically the Sam Puckett to Bucky’s Carly Shay. They both create constant mayhem together, and Steve is always the one who acts as their impulse control, even though he’s probably the most reckless one in the damn group. Sam is nothing short of hilarious, though, so that’s that. 

Scott Lang, the ant kid, as many call him, is another guy that Tony can say he doesn’t understand in the slightest. He’s the only other fourteen year old in the cabin, almost always sobbing while reading John Green books and doing overall random shit that Tony joins in on. The two of them had made friendship bracelets while Steve and Bucky wrestled in the middle of the cabin floor. 

In the matter of only a day, Tony had gotten on quite well with the rest of his cabin, which he’s extremely grateful for. It’s not often that he’s welcomed into groups with such open arms. Typically, he’s placed on a pedestal so high that those below him treat him like dirt beneath their feet. 

And, well, the Emmaus cabin couldn’t give less of a shit about him. Which he sort of loves, and sort of wonders why. 

Surprisingly enough, the food isn’t half bad. Sure, it’s loaded with carbs and sometimes the meat is a bit dry (last night’s meatloaf was as dry as the Mojave desert) but it’s not as horrible as the movies make it seem. Tony’s only been surviving off of coffee and protein bars all summer, so the full course meals at camp are fucking amazing to his poor stomach. 

He’s clinging to consciousness as he holds his tray to his chest, the chatter of the dining hall a buzz that bounces around his skull. It’s way too fucking early for almost everyone to be so happy-go-lucky. 

“Bacon or sausage?” the old, grouchy looking lunch lady behind the counter says. 

“They don’t call me a sausage sucker for nothing,” he says slyly, mostly to get a reaction from her. 

The lady snarls in disgust, plopping three breakfast sausages onto Tony’s tray and turning to the next kid in line. 

Rhodey saves a seat for Tony right next to him at the Emmaus table. Pepper from yesterday is sitting with them too, lightly chattering with Bruce until she sees Tony and scoffs. He plops himself into the seat between her and Rhodey regardless.

“I see you haven’t been beat up again,” she says, poking at the food on her plate. “I also see that the boys must not have let you sleep last night.”

“Sleep is for the weak,” he manages, reaching for the pitcher on the table and pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “It wasn’t just them, though. I was chatting with Bruce about neuroscience, making bracelets with Scott, talking shit about kids from middle school with Rhodey, building a fort with Steve and Bucky—“

“How much sleep did you get?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

The girl shoots him a pointed look. 

Tony, as he pretends to stare down at his food with interest, happens to catch onto the fact that Pepper’s gaze lingers on his for a few moments too long. A usual occurrence for Tony to notice, really, but the only difference between Pepper and any other girl is that he doesn’t find Pepper annoying or a try-hard bitch. She’s pretty, really pretty, in an almost simple way that really makes her stand out to him. Maybe it’s her fair, porcelain skin, that sets her apart from all the girls with fake tans that Tony meets normally. Maybe it’s her natural, long and beachy hair, that reminds Tony of the type of girl-next-door that he’d see on TV.

This should be fun. 

“I like your hair,” he grins, hoping to get a favorable reaction, watching from across the table as Clint hops into his chair, coffee pitcher in hand, Thor begging to share it with him. 

“Thanks,” she says without batting an eye, still stoic as she takes a bite of pancake. “I grew it myself.”

Even better than expected. 

“Look,” Tony says lowly, hand propping up his tilted head as he looks up at her through his lashes, “I know you think I’m some asshole, playboy, loudmouth, clueless, dumb as a rock, cocky man-slut, and that I’m not worth your time—”

“You’re not completely wrong,” Pepper says, but she’s smiling. 

“But that’s not true at all,” he says. 

He looks deep into her eyes, taking in the orbs like a moth to a lamppost, giving the award-winning smirk that he wears like a crown. The smirk that has let him get away with almost anything, even dating back to when he convinced Adriana Sommer to kiss him in the second grade playground. 

“I’m not dumb as a rock. I’m not clueless, either. I know exactly what I want, and how to get it.”

It’s a conversation that Tony would prefer to have somewhere that’s... not in the middle of a busy cafeteria. But no one really notices the two as they stare right through each other, so who gives a rat’s ass?

“And what, exactly, _do_ you want, Stark?” Pepper says, looking unamused yet enthralled, like she doesn’t expect the bomb that Tony is about to drop on her. She’s not flustered by his antics, not at all, but she doesn’t seem disgusted. 

He grins smugly. 

“For you to give me a piece of your bacon.”

—

Their first activity of the day is swimming, and upon hearing that there are fish in the lake water, Tony immediately opts to sit out. 

“Why, man?” Clint whines as he takes his shirt off, throwing it on top of Scott’s head. “There’s only, like, a ten percent chance of catching worms—“

“Dude,” Rhodey warns. 

“I just don’t feel like it,” insists Tony, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he climbs up the seating platform. Kind of like wooden bleachers but smaller and with a flat top over it, keeping him in the shade, thank god. “Trust me, I’ll be fine. I still have to finish the friendship bracelets that me and ant kid were doing last night.”

“Bum,” Clint grumbles. 

“If I tell you that I’m on my period, will you leave me alone?” 

“Oh no,” he says sarcastically, “How heavy’s your flow?”

“I bled through three tampons since breakfast,” says Tony, frankly. 

Clint gives him a look before approaching the lake and throwing his body into the water. 

Tony sighs in relief, watching as most of the track splashes around in the nasty ass green lake water. He almost finishes weaving the blue and red bracelet together when the track counselor calls his name. The woman—named Maria, or something, that’s what Tony heard Bucky calling her—with her low slicked back bun and camouflage cargo pants, looks like a damn military official. “Hey, Stark?”

“Yes ma’am?” he says, politeness seeping through as an instinct. Howard always dragged him along to work meetings and business parties with the pretense of impressing adults, so Tony got the memo quickly when it came to being a poster child around others. 

The woman holds out a clipboard, stacked with papers and a list that looks like it has the names of all her campers in it. “Take this down to the office for me? You know where that is, right?”

“Well, considering that I was sent there yesterday after getting beat up by Johnny fucking Hammer—“

“Yikes. You weren’t seriously hurt?”

“No,” Tony says. “I’ve been hit by a lot worse than him.”

Maria purses her lips. “Well,” she says, thankfully not asking any questions, “You won’t have to worry about him anymore. Little asshole’s been a bother all summer. It’s a good thing he was expelled.”

“Sure was,” he agrees. “Also, I was watching you and Barnes arguing this morning. Fucking hilarious,” Tony says, climbing down from the benches and glancing at the clipboard in hand. 

“Had to add your name to the track list, is all,” she says, adjusting her sunglasses. 

She smiles. It looks fond. “Yep. Barnes is a little shit. At least he has Steve, though.”

“Have they been together all summer?”

“Before then. Even last summer, they were boyfriends. Then again, last year they got a lot of shit for it,” Maria says, “But they’ve surrounded themselves with the right crowd now. They’re lucky to have each other.”

Tony looks out into the water, sun glistening over the lake, as track 44 splashes around and yell at each other. Steve sits atop Bucky’s shoulders, having an intense chicken fight with Thor and Bruce. Predictably, Steve is knocked over and falls face first into the water. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, heart feeling sad.

—

Tony decides that Natasha Romanov is a very, very important girl. 

She’s just shy of fifteen like him, she has a head of deep red hair that’s surprisingly all natural, and her stare has the piercing effect of sewing needles. This camp is chalk full of terrifying teenage girls, and Natasha is no exception. 

She reminds Tony of Pepper, sort of, if Pepper were eerily silent and had Tony anticipating her every move. 

When Natasha first meets Tony, it’s during snack shack time, where all of the Emmaus cabin mates sit at a bench table while squeezing water bottles at each other. The girl, who sits with Steve and Sam more than anything, gives Tony a cold stare before introducing herself. 

“Natasha,” she says, holding out her hand. 

“Stark,” he utters, “Tony Stark. I’m assuming you know who I am already.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve heard quite a lot.”

She squeezes his hand in a death grip before letting go. 

Tony wanders off after a while, desperately trying to find something or someone to entertain him. A big group of girls his age, some pretty and some average, approach him shyly with their phones in hand and ask for his snapchat. 

He declines. “Sorry. I don’t have one.”

“O-Oh,” one of the girls say, looking disappointed, “What about Instagram?”

“Nope,” he lies. 

“Phone number?”

“Don’t have one,” he says shortly, and walks away. 

He mentally smacks himself in the head, once he’s far enough away, walking towards the sports pavilion with no purpose. There were some pretty girls in that group, girls that he could see himself having a fling with to entertain himself. 

Yes, Tony can confirm that he’s a bit of a playboy when it comes to girls. He’s not ashamed, either. He pretends to care when he dates a girl and pretends to feel regret once he breaks her heart. 

Howard had always encouraged Tony to fuck over as many girls as possible. ‘Don’t stop at one,’ he would say to Tony once he got to middle school, ‘Date as many bitches as you want. They’re all useless to you, anyways. When you’re rich like us, boy, you don’t need to find love—girls will practically beg at your feet just to have a chance with a Stark.’

Tony had followed his father’s advice through and through. He doesn’t know why, exactly. Maybe it was the fact that he was so desperate to impress Howard, to be a source of pride by his own father. 

And so, when he walks away from those girls and catches sight of Pepper Potts standing with Bucky and Steve by the basketball hoop, he decides that Howard isn’t fucking worth the effort to impress. 

—

Tony decides, by the end of the day, that meeting so many people at once is damn close to exhausting. 

During free time from 5-6, Emmaus decides to branch off and do their own thing for a while. Rhodey and Thor stick by Tony’s side, though, knowing that the boy doesn’t exactly have anything else to do. 

“Water—Water is wet,” Rhodey says exasperatedly, fingers on his temples as he looks at Thor and Tony with a strained expression. “It’s fucking water. Water is wet.”

“No,” says Thor, throwing his hands up in the air to motion his thoughts, “When a goldfish is in water, it’s not wet. When it’s out of the water, it’s wet.”

“The goldfish is wet,” Rhodey argues. 

Tony shakes his head. “The definition of something being wet is when there’s water on it. Is there water on water? No. It’s just water.”

“I’m going to throw you both into the water if you don’t—”

“Hey, dickwad!” a voice says, and Tony immediately prepares himself to fight someone. He straightens his posture, eyes flying to the young fair boy with long black hair approaching the bench they sit at. Another boy, a younger one, probably only eight or nine, follows behind sheepishly. 

Thor and Rhodey don’t seem alarmed in the slightest, Rhodey glancing up with indifference and the blonde lighting up. 

“Brother,” Thor grins, springing up and pulling the long haired boy into a bear hug. The brother—brother?—scowls in disgust. “I haven’t seen you in a day or two! How have you been?”

“Don’t call me your brother,” he says, brushing his dark green shirt down of any wrinkles. “Anyways, you’re not the only one with a new camper to enslave.”

“No one’s enslaving anyone, Loki,” says Rhodey. 

Loki (what a weird ass name) rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I meant ‘mentor.’ This,” he says, turning to the little boy hiding behind him, “Is Peter. Peter Parker.”

Peter, with his big brown eyes and mop of curly brown hair, hides behind Loki like a shy child using his mother as a shield from strangers. 

“Hi, Peter,” Tony says softly, waving at the boy in a hopefully comforting tone, “I’m Tony.”

Peter shrinks into himself, completely blocking himself from view behind Thor’s brother. They don’t look alike in the slightest—maybe one of them is adopted? That would explain the ‘don’t call me your brother’ line. 

“He’s shy,” says Loki, not acknowledging Tony any further. “Anyways, Thor, I wanted to ask; have you seen our sister anywhere? She promised that she’d sneak into town and buy me some McDonald’s, but I haven’t seen her since.”

“Aw, she’s getting you some but not me?” Thor frowns. 

“Hela hates you. She loves me more.”

“Uncle Loki,” Peter says quietly, “I want a happy meal.”

“Kid, me too,” Rhodey mutters. “I’d fucking kill for a happy meal right now. I’ve only eaten camp food for the past three weeks.”

“What about pizza party Fridays?” Thor asks. 

“I hate Domino’s.”

“You’re cut off,” Loki says. “I’ve never felt such a sense of betrayal. I can’t believe this, Rhodes.”

“I can have Jarvis send an assistant to drop off a happy meal for the kid,” Tony offers. 

Everyone is silent for a moment. “What’s a Jarvis?”

“My robot AI. I’d be dead without him.” He leans down to his wrist, holding down the button on the side to give Jarvis an order. “Hey, Jar, daddy needs you to send an intern or something to camp to drop off a happy meal.“ Tony turns to Peter. “Chicken nuggets or burger?”

“Nuggets,” Peter says, eyes wide. 

“A chicken nugget happy meal. Have it here quick, and have them leave it in a box disguised as a care package.”

“Yes, Master Tony,” Jarvis says. “Would you like an extra toy for you to play with?”

“Not necessary,” he scoffs. 

“Order received. Stark Industries employee on it’s way.”

When Tony looks up, everyone is gaping at him, eyes wide in shock. 

“What the fuck?” Rhodey says, grabbing Tony’s wrist and inspecting the watch. “Is—Is this StarkTech? I didn’t see anything like this on the market.”

“Is it a prototype?” Loki says, climbing on top of the table and grabbing Tony’s wrist himself. “Lemme _cop_.”

“It’s custom made my yours truly,” Tony says, pulling away. “Spent hours coding and downloading Jarvis’ consciousness into a basic StarkWatch I found in my dad’s lab. It’s probably one of the smartest computers in the industry, for its size. It’s not very impressive but I didn’t have much time to work out the hijinks.”

“You downloaded a fucking human’s consciousness into a watch?!”

“What? No. Jarvis is the AI that I invented when I was ten. I’ve been upgrading him constantly ever since. He’s my personal assistant.”

“Oh, thank god,” Thor gasps. “I got worried you were an evil mastermind, for a second.”

“There’s no way you were able to invent something like this at age ten,” says Rhodey. 

“Well, when I was ten, Jarvis was pretty basic. He was just an average AI with a voice and access to the internet, like Siri.”

“And now?”

“He can do full body medical scans, has access to all of Howard’s schedules and security cameras, can effortlessly hack into basic computers, the works.”

“Who taught you how to do that?”

“I’m a genius. Have you forgotten who my father is?”

Peter looks up at him as if he’s in the presence of a superhero, to which Tony winks. 

—

“Okay, okay, okay,” Steve groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as Bucky shoves his face into the crook of Steve’s neck. The rest of cabin Emmaus, all sitting in a circle in the middle of the cabin floor, urges Steve to go on. “Never have I ever...”

“Come on!” Sam yells, two of his fingers already down due to the fact that he’s the only one in the group who has gotten a lap dance before, as well as the fact that he’s the only one who lied to his parents about being hungover.

“Okay!” Steve barks. “Never have I ever smoked pot.”

Everyone puts a finger down. 

“You never have?” Clint asks, unbelieving. 

“No?! Why would I have?”

“Weed is fucking amazing, man,” Tony says. 

“Oh, god,” Steve groans. “Rhodey, you too?”

“Tried it once. Never again.”

“I already knew Bucky has. I just never knew I was the only one who’s never—never done weed. Guys, what the fuck? We’re so young.”

“I mean, don’t you want to try it at least once?” says Bruce. “Just to see what it’s like?”

“The smell is enough to draw me away. Plus, it doesn’t seem like it’ll bode well for my asthma.”

“The smell sucks, but it helps with my anger issues,” he says, unsettlingly calm. 

Tony snickers at the joke. 

“Alright, next,” Sam says, pointing to Thor, who’s next in the circle. 

“Never have I ever cheated on someone.”

Tony hesitates for a moment, but when he puts a finger down, he also notices that he’s the only one who has. 

“Wait, I wanna hear this tea,” says Scott. 

“There was no tea,” Tony scoffs, “I was just a bit of an asshole in sixth grade, is all. Poor Nichole Messina, I kissed her own twin sister.”

The group collectively sighs in relief when the words leave his mouth; a short confirmation that it’s not the type of person he is, at least, not anymore. But he doesn’t miss the way Bucky and Steve frown at each other, looking... disappointed?

“I—I wouldn’t do that now,” Tony sputters, not exactly knowing why he’s trying to justify it. “I’m loyal. I guess. I haven’t played with a girl’s feelings, in, like, six months. I’m on a streak.”

“Wow, six months!” Scott cheers. “You’re a whole new man.”

Bucky goes next, thank god. 

“Never have I ever, uh, stolen from my parents’ liquor cabinet.”

Tony and Thor are the only ones who put their fingers down. 

“Vodka,” Thor explains, waving a hand. “I was, like, twelve. Wanted to try it. I thought I swallowed a ball of fire, when I did. Hela walked in on me shoving ice into my mouth.”

“That only what it’s like before you build up a tolerance for it,” supplies Tony. “It took me a while.”

Rhodey looks at him in confusion, eyebrow raised. “When was the first time you drank vodka?”

The fourteen year old pauses to think. “Well, the first time I had straight vodka, I was thirteen. The first time I drank alcohol in general was when I was six. I think it was whiskey?”

“What the fuck?” breathes Bucky, staring at Tony in intrigue. “How did you get it?”

“Howard,” he says. “Howard gave me some in a glass. Told me to drink up, that it would make a man out of me. I did it, and I cried. Like point break said—it feels like you swallow a ball of fire. But back to the topic at hand; I steal from the liquor cabinet every few weeks. One time Howard caught me, he slapped me straight in the side of the head. He didn’t care that I was drinking liquor, though. He was pissed that I took it from him.”

Tony expects to be awed at, maybe to be thrown a few unsympathetic ‘damn that sucks,’ because that’s all he’s ever received when he tells people about his, uh, drinking experience. What he does not expect in the slightest is the way he’s stared at, stared at like he’s some poor soul in need of help. He shrinks into himself. 

“What,” says Clint, mouth practically on the floor, “The fuck.”

“Tony,” Rhodey says, “Are you being serious right now?”

“What? What’s... yeah? Why would I lie about that?”

“That’s not—oh my god. That’s not okay, Tony.” In clear discomfort, Steve stands up, Bucky doing the same after his boyfriend. “Your father shouldn’t have given you whiskey when you were six fucking years old. He shouldn’t hit you. He should care that you drink, he should punish you and tell you that it’s wrong, especially when you’re so young, and that you’ve drank enough by now to build up a tolerance.”

“Why do you care?!” Tony yells, defensively. “You’re not my dad!”

“Thank god I’m not,” Steve huffs. 

“Stark, you’re a clear case of daddy issues. You don’t even see that it’s wrong,” says Bucky. “Look, obviously Howard Stark is an asshole and the public knows nothing of it. I mean, don’t you see what’s wrong with him? Do you not know any different?”

“Of course I do,” Tony insists. “My mom. But she died three years ago.”

More silence. Tony wants to throw himself off a fucking cliff. 

“Tony,” Bruce says softly.

“No. No—No. You,” he says, pointing to everyone in the now disassembled circle, “Don’t have a say in my life. You don’t get to pity me. You don’t get to tell me what’s right and wrong. My mother is dead, there’s nothing to change that fact! A drunk driver crushed her into a tree, so what?! It’s a fucking _blessing_ that she’s not around to deal with Howard anymore. That fucker treated her worse than me. I’m happy for her. I’m _proud_ of her.”

“Oh my god,” Scott cries. 

“None of you,” he says again, voice cracking, “Understand shit. So you can keep your damn friendship bracelets,” he throws the red and gold one off of his wrist and to the floor, “Go fuck around in your track,” he throws his jacket over his shoulders, “Trash the cabin,” slips on his shoes, “And do whatever the fuck you want. Just keep me out of it, and stay out of my damn way.”

Tony slams the cabin door shut behind him, running into the darkness of the summer night with his heart hammering in his chest. 

He can’t fucking believe how entitled these assholes feel. They think they can tell him what to do, how to feel—Tony knows that Howard is an asshole. He knows that Howard doesn’t care about the things that he should. He knows that Howard doesn’t give a shit about him, about his life. He doesn’t need a reminder. He doesn’t need people to tell him so. 

He kicks a tree. Hard. 

“Stark,” a voice huffs from behind him. It’s Steve. He sounds out of breath. 

“What?” Tony snaps. 

“I’m sorry about your mom,” he says. “I’m sorry your dad’s such an ass. That he sent you here.”

“Whatever, Rogers,” grumbles Tony. “You—No one will ever understand what it’s like to—to live under the shadow of Howard Stark. To live to those sort of expectations, to see the things that I do. You never have and you never will.”

Tony can feel the world closing in on him, the weight of Jarvis’ watch on his wrist, the itch on the back of his neck due to the mosquitoes and the way his eyes sting with tears. He blinks, and only the tears manage to leave. 

“You know what your problem is, Stark?”

“You’re going to have to elaborate on that. I have plenty of problems.”

The two boys stare each other straight in the eyes. Steve is only a few inches shorter than Tony, his eyes a bright, brilliant blue, making Tony feel basic and dull. His plain brown eyes and dark brown hair are far from impressive. Far from being as beautiful as Steve.

God, he’s such a fag. 

“You think you’re better than everyone else,” the blonde says, and Tony scoffs. 

That’s not true at all, he thinks to himself. There are plenty of people better than him. People who have a heart, who feel compassion and are generous and kind—people deserving of love. Someone who’s nothing like Tony. 

“I don’t _think_,” he says, mouth only inches away from Steve’s as he purposefully bends down an inch or two. “I’m better than you, Mr. Rogers.”

The door of the cabin opens, light flooding out and over the two boys. Steve’s breath hitches, and Tony’s satisfied. 

“I _know_ I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment, kudos, bookmark, etc!! i’m hoping you guys are as excited as i am to see where this goes:)


	3. not his first kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More specifically, he can’t stop thinking about Steve and Bucky. The power couple of camp; complete opposites yet so alike. Steve, with the raging fire in his heart despite being too strong for his weak body, and Bucky, who keeps the boy in check, the human epitome of a flaming trashcan. 
> 
> They won’t stop fucking whispering to each other. 
> 
> It drives Tony insane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo the reason this is only 3k is because the chapter i was writing was WAY too long for only one update so i decided to split it up into two. hooray!!! the next chapter will probably be up tomorrow:)

Tony can’t stay. 

This entire summer camp thing was stupid as fuck and shitty on it’s own. He didn’t want to be forced to get along with a bunch of asshole teenagers, but Howard didn’t fucking care. He never cares. 

Joke’s on Tony for thinking that he’d be able to adjust to this—this lifestyle so well. It was too good to be true. He was so fucking comfortable, so ready to spend a month here with the number of allies he’d made, and then he had to open his damn mouth and expose himself like that. It only makes sense that things wouldn’t work out in the long run. Not with his track record of fucking up good things. 

“Jarvis, check the—check the heart. Is it the b-brain?”

Tony didn’t even get the chance to fully adjust to life at camp. He figured that he would eventually get into the swing of things, make a few friends and possibly climb his way to the top along the way. The first day started off good. Too good. Tony actually thought he would have a chance here.

“Nothing unusual, sir.”

He should have known better than to think he was anything better than what he is. 

“Is it, like—a, a blood sugar thing? Maybe I was poisoned or s-s-something, why—why else would I...”

“Negative.”

He scoffs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

After his little meltdown in the cabin, and after stunning Steve to silence, Tony had turned around and walked away. The night is pitch black other than the three lampposts lighting up the main path, but he didn’t go in that direction anyways. 

He sits at the edge of a lake. One of the smaller ones that’s off to the side of camp, past a line of trees and away from all the buildings. The only activity on this lake is a small motor boat that kids used to go fishing on, but Tony’s heard that no one ever catches anything, so it’s basically deserted. The rusty and abandoned looking boat on the shore is explanatory enough. 

No one runs after him. No one goes to look for him. Thank god. 

After a minute of considering the shit he’d be in if he’s not in bed by the time campers wake up for flag raising (he doubts that Rhodey and the cabin would be able to keep up a lie for him that would last long), he figures that heading back to the cabin and going to bed without any preamble to anyone would be the next best plan. He hopes that all the boys went to bed already, and that he won’t have to talk to them. 

“The why else would... why does my head feel so light? And my heart is beating too fast, and my hands are clammy. Obviously something has to be the matter. You’re better than this, Jar.”

“Well, sir,” Jarvis says, “I would diagnose you with a severe anxiety attack.”

Tony is silent for a moment, soaking it in. 

“Me?!” he says, because it’s damn near impossible. 

Whatever. Enough said, and point made—he can’t stay in this hellhole for much longer. 

And no. He is not thinking impulsively. 

—

By the time the sun rises, Tony has the strings of a plan ready. 

He’s the first one awake in the cabin, which allows him to be first in the bathroom and therefore the shower. He scrubs himself harder than he’s ever scrubbed himself before. 

Okay, that’s a lie. But still. 

When he sees the boys shuffling in their bunks, looking like they’re about to wake up, he’s the first one out of the cabin. He walks to the snack shack area and sits alone. 

There’s only a few other campers awake this early, and most of them don’t acknowledge nor notice Tony’s presence there. He hopes to god that he’s left alone. 

“Stark.”

Fucking god. 

Like he’s said before; Natasha Romanov is an enigma to him. Maybe it’s her murder-strut, with her perfect posture and squared shoulders, but maybe it’s her piercing eyes and sharp yet blunt features. There’s also the fact that she’s fucking beautiful, but not in the same way Pepper is. Natasha looks like porcelain, like a russian doll. Pepper is suntanned and freckled, strawberry blonde hair wavy and textured, while Natasha’s hair is disturbingly silky and red. Pepper feels real. Natasha feels like something that would pop up into Tony’s fever dreams. 

“What do you want?” he snaps. 

She doesn’t seem fazed, not in the slightest. “Why was Rhodey losing his shit, calling me in the middle of the night trying to look for you?”

“I don’t fucking know. Because I had a meltdown in the cabin and ran away.”

“Where did you go all night?”

“None of your concern.”

“It’s my concern when it effects my friends,” Natasha states firmly. 

Tony glares at her. 

“I can’t do this any longer,” he says. 

“Do what?”

“Stay here,” he says absently, “In this godforsaken shit show of a sleep-away camp. I can’t keep up with this facade.”

“It’s been less than two days.”

“Two days too many,” Tony mutters. 

The girl huffs. She smooths down her jeans, making a bit of a show as she plops down onto the bench next to Tony. Her posture still remains perfect, so Tony has to ask. 

“Have you ever done dance before?”

Natasha gives him a funny look. “Why?”

“You have the posture of a dancer. Your feet are always planted firmly yet lightly, and your shoulders are always squared. You seem like you have the grace of a ballerina.”

“Have you ever done dance before?”

He nods, completely unashamed. “Tap, Hip-Hop, Ballroom, Tango, Ballet. I did gymnastics for a year or two.”

“Why did you quit?”

“My mother was the one who encouraged me to do it. When she left, the big guy wasn’t keen on me ‘wasting my time’ with anything not concerned with how he could make more money.”

Natasha gives another strange, strange look, a mixture of amusement and remorse. 

“Ballet,” she says after a moment. “I’ve been doing ballet for ten years.”

“Do you like it?”

A shrug. “I enjoy the sport. Not the bitches and assholes who come with it.” 

“What? Like, in the studio you go to?”

“The others in my class. They constantly harass me.”

“Maybe they’re just jealous.”

She shrugs again. “I suppose. I get all the lead rolls in our productions.”

“Like what?”

“Cinderella, Le Corsaire, Sleeping Beauty, Swan Lake.”

“Are you any good?”

“I wouldn’t have been doing it for ten years if I weren’t any good.”

Tony can imagine it. Natasha with her ruby red hair slicked into a bun, sporting a pair of leggings and a leotard, en pointe on her pink ballet shoes. 

Then he imagines her as a ballerina while holding an assault rifle, which fits just as well. 

“How are you planning to escape?” she asks, sounding less like ‘that’s ridiculous’ and more like ‘this is gonna be good.’

He shrugs. “I’ve only worked out a general idea, but the execution is up to if things go in my favor.”

“I’ll help you.”

He sighs. 

“Okay, yeah. This is going to work.”

—

The Emmaus cabin doesn’t even attempt to hold their relief when they see Tony laughing with Natasha during flag raising an hour or so later. 

They bombard him with questions as they all stand before a line of flagpole, counselors yelling at each cabin to stay in organized lines. Scott asks if he slept in the woods, Bruce gives him the basic ‘are you okay?’, Thor gives him a clap on the shoulder and asks where he went, Sam asks if he hooked up with anyone while he was gone, and Rhodey hits him on the head for being so stupid. Bucky and Steve don’t say anything, looking sheepish. 

“I didn’t know you two were friends,” Clint says, pouting. 

Natasha shrugs, but doesn’t elaborate. 

“It was a spur of the moment thing,” says Tony.

“Babe, I thought you said that you thought Stark was a stuck-up snob,” says Clint, to which Tony does a double take. He was not aware of this. 

“That was before I found out he was a fellow intellectual,” the girl says cheekily, placing a chaste kiss on Clint’s cheek. “Good morning, stupid.”

“You’re together?” Tony asks. 

“Yeah. Since, like, two weeks ago. I’ll never forget the time we were both on dish duty, and Natasha threw a butter knife directly at my head. It was love at first sight.”

“You’re insufferable,” grunts Natasha, cheeks flushing as she turns away to talk to Rhodey. 

Tony shrugs it off, shoving his hands into his pockets as he saunters off back to the cabin to grab his phone.

He doesn’t miss the way Steve and Bucky stare at him as he walks away. 

—

It’s back to activities like usual, and their first one is the petting zoo. 

“Tony,” Bucky grins, kneeling on the ground as he cradles a chicken-rooster-monster-thing to his chest, petting its feathers. “Tony, come pet her.”

“No!” Tony cries. 

The petting zoo is a nasty, rusty old thing. The main part is a wooden building full of chicken coops and horse stables, even some goat enclosures. There’s another cage outside of it with other birds, even some ducks and turkeys, then there’s a danced off area with even more goats and an emu. A fucking emu. 

Bucky, like a jackass, had locked tony into a chicken coop with him in a desperate attempt to make Tony touch one of the animals. When the taller boy places the chicken on top of his head and inches closer to Tony’s face, who’s backed up into the wired wall, he screams bloody muster. 

“Tony,” Bucky laughs, almost hysterical, “Just touch the fucking bird.”

“No!” 

“Pet her!” The chicken starts flapping, feathers sticking up everywhere and wings flapping uncontrollably, making Tony scream even louder. Steve stands on the other side of the wire, looking concerned. “Tony?”

“He won’t touch Betsey!” says Bucky, letting her down to the floor. 

“He’s trying to make me touch that thing,” cries Tony, shaking the wire, trying to get out. “Steve. Let me out, your boyfriend is a lunatic, I swear—“

The chicken pecks at Tony’s feet, and he just about orders Jarvis to send an attack missile down onto the camp. “OHMY FUCKINGGOD—“

“Bucky, get the bird off the floor!” 

“LET ME OUT OF HERE!” Tony barks. 

Steve undoes the latch from outside, and the brunette practically flies out and falls onto the dirt floor. “Ew ew ew ew ew ew ew—“

“How dare you disrespect Betsey like that?” gasps Clint, approaching the scene with a chick in his cupped palms. 

Chest heaving, the boy pushes himself off to the floor, dusting off his sweatshirt. “I hate birds,” he breathes. Bucky emerges from the cage, laughing hysterically as he throws his arm over Steve’s shoulder, who’s snickering himself. 

“Here,” Clint says, holding out his hands. “Hold the chicky.”

Tony hesitates. “No.”

“Dude, it’s literally a baby.”

“No. It’s a bird. What if the mother sees me holding it and tries to attack me?”

“Just hold him!”

“It’s gonna poop on me!” Tony groans, despite the fact that he accepts the animal, awkwardly cupping it in his hands. It’s small with brown and yellow patterning, eyes like little beads as it sits calmly. Its claws are sharp. Its beak is sharper—like a little hook. 

“Oh my god,” Bucky smiles. “Someone, get a fucking camera! Stark is holding a chick!”

“I’m gonna throw a fucking bird into the shower while you’re bathing if you don’t—“

“Why is everyone screaming?” Hill asks, standing before the teens with her hands on her hips; a true ‘person in charge’ kind of pose. “Did the chickens peck someone’s eyes out again?”

“Again?!” Tony shrieks, throwing the thing back into Clint’s arms and running out of the petting zoo. He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he’s far, far away.

When everyone laughs, pulling out their phones and recording Tony scramble away and into the woods, he decides that it’d be funnier if he just didn’t come back. 

—

During lunch, Tony’s plan needs to be set in motion. 

After running away from the petting zoo, (with Sam recording the whole thing, briefly making Tony snapchat famous) he shoots Natasha a quick text asking if they can meet and discuss his escape. 

They meet at the snack shack, both of them buying orange soda and sitting atop a bench, sweat sticking to their foreheads. 

“Well, I mean, are there any protocols that call for major camp evacuations? Like, where all the counselors would be preoccupied and wouldn’t immediately notice a camper vanish?”

“During lunch everyone is pretty much in the same place,” the girl shrugs. “Well, at least, the campers are. Track counselors and other staff are off doing whatever.”

That’s going to be an issue. In order for him to escape, he needs to guarantee that no counselors will find him before he can get through the woods. From there, he can have Jarvis send a Stark Industries chauffeur to pick Tony up or even send a private jet. That’s all dependent on if he gets caught or not, though. 

It’s a shame, really. If he leaves today, that means his chances with Pepper would be a waste of time. His short companionship with Rhodey would be meaningless because they’d never speak again, and then there’s Steve and Bucky, who for some reason, he feels wrong about leaving behind.

“What about Maria?”

“You mean Maria Hill?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Her and Barnes are always arguing. She seems nice. I’m pretty sure she goes to her counselor cabin during lunch, though.”

“I’m thinking,” Tony says, opening his can of soda with a ‘pop!’ sound. He watches as children and teens alike run around the area, playing in the gaga pit or running around playing tag. “The counselors wouldn’t all be together, but maybe there’s a way to get them all to go to the same place.”

“How so?”

“Staging an accident. Calling for all staff to be somewhere, for something important.”

“I still don’t get how we’d get all of them at one place. How would we communicate to all of them at once?”

He takes a sip. 

“They all carry their radios on their belts, right?”

“Yes. It’s required.”

“Maybe we could ‘borrow’ one, per say.”

Natasha, with her ruby red hair, looks up at the clear sky. Her gaze is unfocused, yet as clear as an eagle. She reminds Tony of a spider. Thin, crawly, able to get around stealthily. 

He’d be leaving her behind, too. 

“I like your style, Stark.”

—

For lunch, the dining hall serves turkey wraps, but Tony doesn’t eat much. He sips on his chocolate milk and taps away on his phone. 

When Bruce asks him why he’s being so quiet, Tony doesn’t lie to him. It’s because he has a lot on his mind. 

More specifically, he can’t stop thinking about Steve and Bucky. The power couple of camp; complete opposites yet so alike. Steve, with the raging fire in his heart despite being too strong for his weak body, and Bucky, who keeps the boy in check, the human epitome of a flaming trashcan. 

They won’t stop fucking whispering to each other. 

It drives Tony insane. 

Maybe it irritates Tony because there’s a chance that they’re talking about him—yes, that’s always a possibility, and it’s something he’s grown used to. People always whisper about Tony. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re being secretive in the first place, and Tony wants to understand, to be part of it. (Scratch that.)

“I’m gonna go grab ketchup,” he says to no one, getting up from his chair and abandoning the table. He tends to abandon Emmaus a lot more than he realizes. 

Of course, the ketchup was just an excuse for him to send the signal to Natasha that they need to make their first move. A simple tap in the shoulder is all it should take, yet Tony finds something in the way, Natasha’s table just a scene in the short distance. 

“Mr. Stark!” a small, young voice cheers, clinging onto Tony’s midriff. Curse his genes for making him so short. So accessible. 

He’s annoyed at first, but then he sees the small boy with a familiar mop of brown curls. 

“Peter!” he grins, hugging the top of Peter’s head. Tony bends down, swooping the eight year old up into his arms, Peter giggling all the while. “What are you doing, kid? Come on, go back to your cabin.”

“Well, you’re up too,” Peter says pointedly as Tony sets him on the floor. “I wanted to say thank you.”

Tony looks over the kid’s shoulder to the sight of Natasha glaring at him, mouthing words that he can’t make out. She’s probably trying to say something along the lines of ‘what the fuck are you doing, we have a plan to carry out.’

Natasha can wait, Tony decides. “For what?”

“For the happy meal,” Peter grins. He’s missing a front tooth, which frankly, is adorable. It’s not often that Tony finds children adorable; most of the little brats that run around during Stark Industries business parties are spoiled, meaning that when Tony was forced into the kids’ section at dinners, he’d constantly have to babysit a pack of snotty and obnoxious elementary schoolers who ran around and broke expensive furniture. Howard would always blame Tony for any damage done at the end of the night. Needless to say, Tony fucking hates kids.

“Where’s that weird green guy? Loki?”

“Uncle Loki is on dish duty. He’s wearing rubber gloves and an apron and everything,” he giggles. “The mean lunch lady said on the walkie talkie that they needed someone for dishes. His cabin voted him up.”

There’s something about Peter that makes Tony gleeful. Maybe it’s his shy, gentle, and quiet demeanor that makes him less irritating than the rest. He’s innocent, you can tell just by his big eyes alone, and Tony wants to protect him. He has to protect him. 

“Stark,” Natasha says sternly, approaching the two boys with a hand on her hip. “I need you.”

“Hang on, toots,” he says. “The kid just gave me an idea.”

—

When the cabin clears off their table, Tony automatically volunteers for dish duty, much to everyone else’s bafflement. 

“But... I thought you were grossed out by it,” Scott says slowly. “Even I think it’s gross. You have to spray clean, like, a hundred trays and put them on a conveyer belt. It’s not a fun time.”

“I don’t care,” Tony shrugs. “It’s just dish duty. I know how to get my hands dirty.”

Bucky gives him a quizzical look. “Alright, Stark.”

When he gets behind the lunch counter, the same grouchy lady from breakfast hands him an apron and a pair of gloves. 

“Go behind the window,” she says, shoving him through the kitchen doors. “And accept trays from the campers. Use the big hose-faucet thing that’s dangling to spray down food, then pass it to the kid next to you, who’ll put it on the conveyor. You have fifteen minutes to do every last tray. Go.”

Loki, drenched in sink water with his hair thrown into a last-minute messy bun, scowls when he sees Stark, yet also seems relieved to see someone else helping. “Oh, look. It’s you.”

“Odinson,” Tony sneers, taking his place by the window and beginning to accept food trays from a line of campers, a few of them gaping at the fact that Tony Stark would be doing such a job. “I saw your little friend. Peter.”

“That’s not my friend, that is my minion.”

“He’s a little doll,” Tony corrects. “He calls you Uncle Loki.”

“It’s an endearing term,” Loki blushes. “He does it to everyone.”

“Right.”

After a minute or two of spraying down the mustard off of plates and forks, Tony’s already got a group of thirteen year old girls from the Zion cabin at the window trying to get his number. He ignores them. 

“Come on, dude!” one of them whines, holding up her phone. “We all think you’re, like, really cute. If you could give us a chance—“

“There’s a line behind you,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “If you don’t have any crusty trays, cups, forks, spoons, or knives, then I think our business is done.”

“We’re not leaving,” one of them says. Before Tony can spray them in their faces with sink water, Loki shoves his way to the window, disgust ever so present in his scrunched up nose. 

“Look,” he seers, pointing at them with his rubber glove, “If you don’t get your ugly VSCO girl asses out of the line right now, I’ll report you to Rumlow for sexual harassment on a fresh meat.”

“Aren’t you Thor’s brother?” a girl scoffs. 

“Adopted,” he says shortly. 

“You mean that hot blonde guy who hangs out with that gay couple? Steven and Bryce, or something like that?”

“Steve and Bucky,” someone corrects. 

The girl in the middle, short with a blonde ponytail and a seashell necklace, twists up in disgust. 

“Ew,” she sneers, looking at Loki like he’s a weasel dipped in grease. “You hang out with them? The gays?”

“It varies from moment to moment. Problem?”

“Being queer is a sin. That entire Emmaus cabin is full of freak shows, even if they’re popular,” the girl says, which is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Something inside of Tony snaps, an idea clicking in his mind—one that would have horrible consequences but would be oh so worth it in the moment. 

He slides off his rubber glove, bringing his hand to the blonde girl’s face, cupping her cheek. All of her friends gape at the scene, eyes widening before Tony can even make a move, and before the girl can even utter a word. 

“What are you—what are you doing?”

He leans in, kissing her on the lips. 

It lasts for a second or two, and he pulls away with a quiet peck, showing off his signature Prince Charming smolder. She covers her mouth in shock, cheeks bright red as the other girls squeal. Others in line watch it happen. They all gasp while turning to each other, sure to gossip. 

“By the way,” Tony says to her, elbowing Loki when he notices the boy gaping at him in disgust. “I’m bisexual.”

He wishes he could record the girl’s face right now, holy hell. 

“Be careful, honey,” he grins cockily. “You might catch the gay.”

He tears off his apron and his other glove as he turns away, abandoning the lunch room and grabbing a walkie-talkie from a table as he walks by. 

“Stark!” Loki barks, but Tony’s already out the back door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the angst train is coming


	4. here comes the king

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fury glares at the boy. He doesn’t speak for a moment. “One of the junior campers is missing. No one has seen him since last night, at dinner. I’m sure you can understand why we’re so wary to have people not where they’re supposed to be. Rumlow is being extra cautious of that.”
> 
> Tony fidgets with his watch. After another moment of silence, Fury holds out his hand. 
> 
> “I’ll protect you, Stark,” the man says. 
> 
> Tony swallows before holding out his own, accepting the handshake firmly. Firm handshakes are a sign of dominance, of respect and control, and Tony and Fury are equally equipped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long, eventful chapter to make up for the sorry excuse for the last one!!
> 
> my instagram is @val_kurry, by the way;))

“What the hell took so long?!” Natasha’s cracked voice yells at him. On her end, the sound of a sea of people in the cafeteria makes her almost inaudible as she whisper-screams into the radio. 

“Got tied up,” Tony huffs, running out of the back entrance of the kitchen and into the hot summer day. “Where’d you get your talkie?”

“Stole it from Coulson’s belt,” she says. “Why did we need you to be in the kitchen again?”

“One,” he says, “because there was easy access to a walkie talkie, which I thought I saw on a table when I passed by the dish window this morning, and which Peter confirmed when he talked about one of the lunch ladies using one. Two, because when you pull that fire alarm, I’ll be given an alibi. When they’re looking for me, they’ll go to my cabin, and they’ll say that I was in the kitchen on dish duty. Lower chance of Emmaus seeing me leave, or any cabin, for that matter.”

“Okay. Now, all we have to do is set the evacuation. You see the nearest—“

“I’m standing right next to it,” Natasha hisses. 

“Alright. Alright, I’m gonna count to three. When I do, you need to pass by the fire alarm and don’t make it obvious that you’re pulling it.”

“Hurry up and count, then.”

Tony huffs, looking at his watch. “Jarvis, did you send a chauffeur?”

“Apologies, Master Stark. Your father has already removed you from the contact list due to your placement at camp. No chauffeurs are able to come.”

“Fuck. Okay, I’ll figure it out once I’m out. Call me an Uber.”

“Yes, sir,” the AI says. 

“What’s your father going to say once he sees you home after barely two days away?”

“Probably’ll hit me, but that’s nothing new. I’d rather take a punch than stay at this shithole much longer. I’ve learned way too much about myself than I’m comfortable with.”

Natasha coughs, a subtle reminder for him to get on with it. 

“One.”

Tony squints down at his watch. Noticing that he had unconsciously pulled his sleeve up while doing dishes, he pulls it down to his wrists, heart dropping in fear that anyone saw. 

“Two.”

Natasha shuffles from the other end, and Tony sighs, just wanting to be somewhere alone. Like his room, or something. There is no ounce of privacy here. He can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. 

“Three.”

The alarms begin to blare. Tony runs around the building and towards the tree line, which then would lead to the road outside the camp’s perimeter. 

“Thanks, Kim Possible,” he huffs as he takes cover behind the first aid building, watching the cafeteria doors as students and counselors rush out in a sea of confused people. From the group of buildings, it’s too far a stretch to the tree line. He’d be spotted for sure if he made a run for it right now, with all the people outside now. 

Tony takes a moment to collect himself, hand to his chest as his heart pounds. 

The walkie-talkie cracks to life.

“I don’t know,” a muffled voice says—Steve?—as Tony recoils, turning the volume down. Did Natasha lose her radio? Is she turning it on accidentally?

“He was on dish duty,” Bucky says. 

It sure sounds like her talkie is close to the ground or in a pocket, like she’s trying to hide it. Maybe she’s doing it intentionally, like she wants Tony to hear. 

“No one saw him exit the kitchen when everyone else did,” says Steve, huffing. “What if—what if he did something, like, to escape—“

“Why would he do that?”

“Maybe he’s mad at me for last night,” Steve says pathetically. “That’s why he keeps leaving, going missing without explanation. He doesn’t want to be around us.”

“I doubt that’s why,” Natasha’s clearer, louder voice says shortly. 

“Nat, you’re not gonna tell anyone, are you?” begs Bucky. “What we told you?”

The girl clears her throat, and then the radio cuts off. 

Chest heaving in confusion, Tony stares at the device in his hand. His cut up, dirty, unfamiliar hand. 

He watches in the distance as Emmaus, in the crowd of campers and counselors, looks around. They’re looking for him. Then he sees Peter, who’s equally as confused. 

Tony stands up, slowly.

“Shit,” he mutters, and he turns around. 

He runs head first into someone tall’s big, broad chest. 

—

Brock Rumlow is an intimidating guy.

He wears all black, his skin is tanned and olive, and he has this weird long scar across the side of his face. He wears a permanent death glare, and his muscular stature is nothing to discourage people’s expectations of him. 

If you were to survey the entire camp, over half of the population would express their distaste for the counselor. Some say that he’s a prick, or that he’s an asshole, or that he constantly targets girls who fail to follow the dress code. This is the first time that Tony’s seen him in person, and he certainly didn’t expect for it to be in the circumstances. He didn’t think that Rumlow would have a death drip on his wrist, dragging him to Camp Director Fury’s office. 

“I already told you, get your fucking hands off of me, you asshole—“

He’s thrown into a chair before he can even finish his sentence. 

Scoffing, Tony sits up straight and dusts himself off. The room is dim, smells of whiskey, and the combination of that alone as well as being damn near dragged and thrown down by his already fucked up wrist is enough to make his heart pound in a panic. 

Rumlow stands behind him, posture straight and unmoving. 

Tony looks ahead. Behind the desk in front of him (which reminds him somewhat of a principal’s office), sits a man with an eyepatch and a permanent scowl, who looks Tony up and down. 

“Rumlow?” the man—Fury, Tony realizes—says. 

“I caught him hiding behind the first aid cabin, holding a counselor walkie-talkie. He looked like he was up to no good.”

Fury pauses, reaching for a file on his desk and opening it up. Tony stares up at him. He knows better than to take his eyes off the predator. 

“Anthony Edward Stark,” he reads, almost lightly, as if he’s trying to size the boy up. That’s Tony’s file he’s reading. “Fourteen years old. Son of Howard Stark, and the heir to Stark Industries. Eighth grader.”

“I’m about to be in high school,” Tony spits. 

Fury looks up at him with one eye. One sharp, dangerous eye, but Tony isn’t afraid. He’s been dealing with a lot worse all his life. “You’re a smart kid,” he says, putting the file down. “I can tell that much.”

“Sir, I believe he stole a radio from one of the counselors.”

“I did not. I stole it from the kitchen.”

“Do you have anything to do with the fire alarm that went off without warning?” asks Fury. 

“So what if I do?”

Fury glares at Rumlow. “Brock, get out. Me and the boy need some time to talk. Alone.”

The man complies, but he slams the door behind him. 

“Anthony,” Fury starts. 

“Don’t call me that. My name is Tony. And for the love of god, do not call me ‘young man.’”

“Stark,” the director says grimly, and loudly. Tony shuts his mouth. “You’ve caused a lot of trouble since Monday. With that fight with Johnny Hammer, an incident I’ve just heard of you kissing a thirteen year old camper unprecedented, and now this?”

“I didn’t think news of that would travel that fast,” he says, mostly to himself. “And, first of all, it wasn’t unprecedented. That girl and her friends were harassing me while I was on dish duty, trying to get my number, and I told them to stop. Then they were giving an attitude to this kid named Loki Odinson, I’m sure you know him, and then they started talking shit about two boys from my cabin. Steve and—“

“Steve and Bucky,” Fury finishes.

“Yeah. They’re my friends.”

“So you kissed her.”

“I did, and then I told her that she’d be catching the gay.” Don’t mention the other bit, don’t mention the other bit, don’t out yourself to this stranger— “Then I stole a walkie talkie and I left out the back door.”

“Why?”

“Because I was going to make a run for it.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate this fucking camp!” Tony cries. “I want to go home. I can’t do this. I’m not used to this, to having to interact with so many people, to not having any privacy when it comes to anything. I hate it.”

Before Fury can reach for a glass of what looks like whiskey that sits on his desk, Tony stops him. “Please. Don’t drink that in front of me,” he says quietly. 

Fury stops in his tracks, looking at Tony in confusion. He puts his hand down, not asking any questions but still seeming wary. 

“Thank you,” the boy sighs. 

The man clears his throat, adjusting himself in his chair. “Stark, I know of the rumors that go around. I know of all of them. I know that you’re hiding something, and I know that there’s something concerning about your home life.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“So,” Fury says anyways, “I’m not going to call your father. It seems like you don’t need that extra burden on you, and frankly, Howard doesn’t seem like a pleasant person.”

“He’s not.”

“Let’s make a deal. You do your best to adjust, to stay out of trouble for the rest of your month here. No more fights, no more escape plans, nada.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“My protection,” Fury says, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “Your father gets good weekly reports. Camp record kept clean. If you do happen to be picked on by another camper, I’ll be sure to take your side, but only if the situation isn’t against you. We already have our hands full as it is—you haven’t heard the news, have you?”

“What news?”

Fury glares at the boy. He doesn’t speak for a moment. “One of the junior campers is missing. No one has seen him since last night, at dinner. I’m sure you can understand why we’re so wary to have people not where they’re supposed to be. Rumlow is being extra cautious of that.”

Tony fidgets with his watch. After another moment of silence, Fury holds out his hand. 

“I’ll protect you, Stark,” the man says. 

Tony swallows before holding out his own, accepting the handshake firmly. Firm handshakes are a sign of dominance, of respect and control, and Tony and Fury are equally equipped. 

—

When Tony steps through the door of the cabin, he doesn’t expect for everyone to be sitting around the room in a big circle, going silent as they see the boy come in. 

It’s not just the Emmaus boys there, either. It’s Pepper, Natasha, Loki, and Peter, as well.

Pepper shoots up from her place leaning on a bunk, nose scrunched up, looking furious. “Tony, what the fuck?!”

“Where have you been?” Rhodey scolds, shooting to his feet as well. “We were worried sick!”

Tony rolls his eyes, closing the door behind him. “Fury’s office.”

Bucky peers up in shock. He sits atop the dresser (with drawers full of cleaning supplies and other things like shampoo bottles, bug spray, etc, Tony remembers, albeit he should probably focus on the situation at hand rather than obscure details of dresser storage) with Steve around his arm. “You—You were sent to Fury’s office?! And you’re still alive?!”

“We respect each other,” Tony says. “He’s not as bad as you all make him out to be.”

“I told them everything,” admits Natasha. She’s snuggled up next to Clint on a bottom bunk, only looking slightly guilty. 

“I got that much. It’s whatever, toots, I don’t care anymore.”

Pepper cradles Tony’s face in her hands. A motherly instinct, he assumes, but he can’t help the blush that spreads across his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. “Tony,” she says sternly. “I was worried. Why—Why are you so cold? Your face is freezing.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. 

“Mr. Stark,” says Peter softly, coming up from behind Pepper and hugging the boy. 

“I’m sorry, kid,” Tony says. 

“Mr. Stark, a boy from my cabin went missing,” Peter cries. “No one has seen him all morning. We thought he just... w-went home early, or something, but just now they told us that no one... no one knows where he is. I thought you went missing too. No one could find you during the fire alarm.”

His heart shatters. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry,” groans Loki. “Besides, news has already spread about the lunch line, Stark. What the hell was that about?”

“What was what about?” Scott, Steve, and Pepper ask simultaneously. 

“You didn’t hear what Tony did?” asks Bruce. Fuck, great. He knows too. 

Loki grins—a crooked sight. “Let me enlighten you, then, because I’m the only one with a first-hand account. Stark kissed some pre-teen girl through the dish window!“

“_TONY_!” Pepper scolds, whacking him in the arm. 

“It wasn’t like that!” he screams. “Loki, you trick-ass, that’s not what happened at all!”

“You kissed a little girl in line?!” Steve shrieks.

“NO! That’s _not_ what happened at all! She—she was 13, by the way, so she’s only a year younger than me—she was harassing me with her friends, trying to get my number, and they wouldn’t leave. Then Loki tried defending me and told them to back the fuck off, so then they were like ‘oh, doesn’t your brother hang out with the gay kids named steve and bucky’ and then she was going on and on about how being gay is bad, so I kissed her, and then I...”

Loki coughs. He knows what happens next, but he probably doesn’t want to say it without permission. He most likely doesn’t know if Tony is going to admit it. Tony doesn’t know either. 

“I told her that I’m friends with you guys, too,” he lies, “And that she might ‘catch the gay.’ That’s all I said.”

“And then he left,” Loki scoffs. “And the fire alarm went off.”

“Is that your doing, Nat?” asks Sam. 

She shrugs. 

From over Pepper’s shoulder, Steve and Bucky look guilty, eyes trailing to the floor as they draw back. All Tony wants is to tell them that it’s okay; that they didn’t do anything wrong. That he’s not in trouble, or anything, that he’s happy he did it. 

“We’re sorry, man,” Steve says softly. 

“It’s fine, Rogers.”

“No—No, it’s not. You shouldn’t have had to kiss some snotty girl to defend me an’ Bucky.”

“First of all,” he says, “I defended you because I wanted to, that’s it. Don’t give yourself so much credit. It was on my own will.”

Bucky sputters. “But—“

“Second,” Tony says, holding out two fingers as if he’s counting it off. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just a kiss.”

“Tony, kisses are important,” says Pepper. 

“Not to me. I’ve kissed so many people that I’ve lost count, alright? I’ve yet to kiss someone and have it matter to me—and no, it’s not because I don’t care about it, that’s not true at all. It’s because I’ve never found the right person to make it count with. Most of the time, it’s not even me who initiates it. The girl does it—sometimes, even other boys. Why, you ask? Because that’s the type of person I’ve been...been expected to be. And no one understands.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Steve asks quietly. 

“I don’t know,” Tony huffs. “Maybe it’s because I don’t want you to think that I’m some sort of playboy whore. I mean, I am one, sometimes, but it wasn’t my intention when I kissed that girl.”

When he’s met with a burning, almost unbelieving silence, Tony sighs. He walks past Pepper and Peter, steps over Scott laying down on the floor, and flops onto his bed. 

“I’m tired,” he says, shoving his head into the pillow. “When the track heads back to activities, and if Maria asks where I am, tell her to call Fury. He’ll give me an excuse.”

—

When Tony was in eighth grade, he had a babysitter named Christine. Don’t ask why he had a babysitter. 

Okay, fine, he’ll tell you. It’s because Howard caught him stealing out of the liquor cabinet, and even though he taught Tony a lesson by beating the shit out of him, the guy still didn’t trust Tony to be home alone. It was stupid. There were maids and attendants scattered all throughout the mansion, anyways. Howard wanted someone to stay in Tony’s room with him. 

Cue Christine—a gorgeous, blonde, tall, sexy eighteen year old girl who went to the local high school. Howard hired her to take care of Tony for two hundred bucks an hour for over two months, while Howard went out and did god knows what a few times every week. 

The girl was a hoot. She told Tony about her dreams of being a reporter, about how she had experience babysitting little kids throughout high school to make money for her car payments, about how she thought that Tony was definitely the cutest one she’d ever had the pleasure to take care of. He would always resist, telling her that he wasn’t a little kid. He was thirteen. That’s barely a kid anymore. 

It was all bluff, Tony would tell himself, as the girl would flirt and call him cute and treat him like a person. Like a living, breathing person. He liked her a lot, and who could blame him? He was a hormonal mess, attracted to anything with a pretty face, and she was the dictionary definition of prettiness. 

When Christine continued flirting with him, he told himself that she was just being nice. 

When Christine kissed him, he told himself that he was in love with her. 

When Christine wanted to do more, Tony didn’t stop her. 

—

Tony sleeps for so long that when he’s shaken awake, it’s dinner time and the sun is setting. 

He wakes up in an antsy mood; for some reason, he had a nightmare (more like a flashback—but he refuses to disclose that to anyone, fuck off) that sends bile rise up his throat, making him nauseous, like some sort of green venom that travels through his veins and makes his face numb. He dreamed about something that all he wanted to do was forget. 

Every time he sees someone make a sudden movement as they walk to the dining hall, he flinches. When Scott accidentally bumps into Tony while they’re walking, the boy recoils as if he’s been burned. 

Scott is apologetic, of course, understanding that Tony is going through something, but not understanding what. No one does, the teenage boys glancing at each other in question. 

“I think I’m just sleep deprived,” he assures them, despite the sacks under his eyes. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

The moment he steps through those cafeteria doors, all eyes are on him. 

The dining hall is silent, aside from a few whispers. It makes him want to curl up in a ball and die—the way that all the campers stare at him and whisper what they’ve heard, looking at him like he’s some sort of sideshow attraction. It’s so much. It’s too much. 

_‘did you hear what stark did?’_

“Oh, yeah, by the way,” Sam says to Tony as he passes by, grabbing a tray from the stack on the counter, “Ever since lunch, you’ve become a household name. Everyone’s been talking.”

Nostalgia hits him like a truck. 

_‘on friday night, him and christine everheart—‘_

“About what?” he gulps. 

“The kiss, fire alarm, your fight with Hammer, the missing kid. All of it is coming back to you, for some reason. They’ve been saying how everything has been fucking up as soon as you came.”

He can only be relieved that seemingly no one else knows about the whole ‘I’m bisexual’ thing, besides the girls, Loki, and possibly the others in line. Maybe the girl felt so embarrassed about kissing a homo that she swore everyone else to secrecy. 

Tony shrugs, feigning ignorance, even though his heart is exploding in his chest and his head feels like it’s crushing into itself. They’re all staring. They’re all staring at him, making him feel so small, like he’s some fuck-up. Like he’s some sort of joke. 

_‘christine everheart? you mean the high school senior?’_

_‘yeah. i always knew stark was a whore.’_

_‘he’ll probably put his dick into anything with two legs.’_

“It’s whatever,” he grins, anyways. “It’s nothing I’m not used to.”

—

He doesn’t sleep much that night, but everyone else does. 

He can’t blame them—it was a long, stressful day. The news of the missing boy has spread around camp, an ever looming topic of conversation that’s constantly being speculated. People are scared. Some are amused, those sick bastards. 

While Thor, Rhodey, Bruce, Clint, and Scott knock out as soon as it’s lights out time, Tony pathetically lays in his bed with his eyes closed, waiting for sleep that’ll never come. 

“Hey, Tony?”

He opens his eyes. Fuck sleep. 

“Yeah?” he asks to the darkness, a hush in his voice. 

“Can’t sleep,” Steve says. “Wanna hang out?”

“Steve? Tony?” Bucky’s voice says, next. “Oh my god. Let’s have a blanket party.”

“Fuck, it’s the two of you,” Tony jokes, sitting up in his bed. “Wouldn’t I be third wheeling?”

“Nah. It’d be more like a triple date.”

He can work with that. “Okay. Which bed?”

“My bed,” Steve sing-songs. 

All of a sudden, Tony is struck with glee. It’s the first time in a while that he’s put in a good mood so quickly, especially with the simple pretense of a blanket party. He bumps into Bucky as they both climb out of their bottom bunks, the pitch black darkness not helping them navigate at all. “You stepped on my foot!”

“Your foot was in the way!” Bucky hisses. 

Helpfully, Steve points a flashlight in their direction. “Over here. Come on.”

The two boys race to the bed, throwing themselves on and giggling as they fail at staying quiet. They scramble to put the blanket over the three of them as they build a blanket fort, Steve in the middle as he holds the flashlight up, illuminating the three of them. 

“What do you guys wanna talk about?” Steve says. 

“We should play truth or dare,” Bucky suggests. 

“The last time we suggested a game like that, Stark literally went missing all fucking night.”

“We can play truth or dare,” Tony says, going for unbothered but missing by a long shot. “I don’t care. I won’t flip out.”

“See?” Bucky says. “He’s fine.”

“Alright. Who’s going first?”

Bucky grins. It’s a breathtaking sight. “I will! Tony, Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Buck, don’t ask something weird like you always do,” warns Steve.

“Stark, how old were you when you had your first kiss?”

Tony pauses, scratching his chin. It’s almost embarrassing that he has to think about it. “Uh...”

“You don’t even know?”

“I think I was in second grade. It was the prettiest girl in school, her name was Adriana. She only kissed me because I gave her a StarkTech phone I stole from my dad. She kissed like a fish, anyways.” 

The boyfriends snicker, hands to their faces as the double over in a fit of amusement.

“Okay, fair,” Bucky grins, looking at Steve next. “Babe, truth or dare?”

“Should I start off easy? Do truth?”

“It’s an unspoken rule in Truth or Dare to say truth first,” Tony supplies. 

“Well, I’ll just have to take your word for it, then. Truth.”

“What’s the first thing you would do if you woke up day and you were a girl?”

Steve snorts, and Tony smacks him in the arm as they both take in the question. God, he’s so whipped. “I’d fucking grab my boobs, that’s what I’d do,” Steve says. 

“Same! Same! Same!”

“Ewww,” Bucky spits, making a disgusted face. “Boobs.”

“Gay?” Tony asks. 

“Yeah. Attracted to dick, and strictly dick. My boyfriend Stevie here swings both ways.”

“I like both and I’m proud,” Steve says, smiling from ear to ear. “I mean, like, what about you, Tony? You ever liked a boy before?”

Tony’s brain goes dead for a moment, like a slow computer that can’t process a file. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, should he tell the truth? “Uh...”

“Don’t answer if you don’t want!” Steve assures. Fuck, his jawline is beautiful. “Ugh, I must sound like such a creep. A bi guy trying to ask a straight kid if he’d ever swing that way. I’m sorry.”

“No—No, you’re fine,” Tony sputters. “I mean, I’ve kissed other boys before. I’m not picky, I guess. If someone’s hot then they’re hot.”

Bucky sighs in relief. “Oh, thank fuck. I thought we’d been joined by another heterosexual.”

“Wait, you just reminded me of something,” the shorter brunette says. “So, Thor and Bruce. Are they...”

“What? Gay for each other?”

“I get that kind of energy, I just wasn’t sure. I haven’t really seen any obvious signs.”

“We’ve all placed bets. Mine was twenty dollars for them getting together by the third week.” Steve frowns. “It’s the fourth week now. I had to put in, like, half of my allowance.”

“So far, me and Clint are in the lead,” says Bucky cheekily. “I put in fifty.”

“You’re gonna be fifty dollars poorer, then.” Tony shuffles around, pulling the blanket over them to be less saggy, so that now he can actually see the top of Bucky and Steve’s heads when they’re speaking. “End of the week. Hundred bucks.”

“Woah, woah woah! You’re awfully cocky, sweetheart.”

His heart, deadass, as pathetic as it sounds, skips a beat at the flirtatious name. He hopes that Steve’s okay with it, because Tony wouldn’t mind Steve calling him sweetheart, either. 

Tony clears his throat. “Okay, uh... who goes next?”

“You can,” Steve offers, fiddling with the flashlight. 

“Okay. Bucky, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he winks. Jesus Christ, Tony’s gonna die. 

Cut. Holt. Freeze frame. Okay, first; obviously, he usually knows what he’s doing when it comes to relationships. For his young age, it’s impressive that he’s been able to gain as much experience as he has. In middle school he was always the one that boys questioning their sexuality would go to. Tony was always the receiver of love confessions, the one that people would talk about and say, ‘ugh, you have a crush on him? _everyone_ has a crush on him.’

He’s never had to be the one to pursue something. That’s the one thing that he’s clueless about. Clearly, boldness is the only thing he has to go off of. He gives Bucky’s dare impulsively. 

“I dare you to kiss Steve.”

Bucky moves without hesitation, cradling Steve’s face in his hands as he envelopes the blonde’s mouth in his own, moving his lips as Steve closes his eyes and takes it—head backed up on the wall as his boyfriend works. 

Tony desperately tries to hide his enticement by covering his mouth with a laugh. “Jesus, I said kiss, not french the life out of!”

“I can’t help it,” Bucky laughs, pulling away. Tony watches in aroused horror as both of their lips separate, both pink and wet and looking absolutely devoured. Steve is flushed; pale yet bright red around his cheeks, nose, and ears. “You can’t just ask me to kiss Stevie and expect me to not do the most.”

“When was you guys’ first kiss?”

Biting his lip, Steve gives Bucky an unimpressed glare. “In sixth grade, top of the Rip Ride Rockit. Class field trip to Universal.”

“Was it magical?” Tony jokes. 

“Well, I fainted less than two seconds later, but other than that it was pretty nice.”

“I was horrified,” Bucky mutters. “I thought I killed him. Turns out it was just because of the ride. Asthma things.”

“Steve, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What was your first impression of me?”

Tony braces himself for the answer; it’s sure to be a negative one. The first thing he even did at camp was get thrown into a fight, for crying out loud. He just needs to know what Steve thought of him; if he thought Tony was a priss, or if he thought Tony was charming, or if he really did mean what he said last night. That Tony thinks he’s above it all. 

“I thought,” Steve says, “That you were the dumbest kid I’d ever seen.”

Heart sinking, Tony smiles nonetheless. “You’re not wrong,” he says, “but just so you know, I’ve already taken calculus.”

“No, I already knew you were book smart. Howard Stark’s a genius—people call him the DaVinci of the twenty first century. I only assumed you’d inherited that. And then, you started clawing the shit out of Hammer, and I thought you were insane.”

“You act like you wouldn’t have done the same thing, Stevie,” Bucky says. 

“And then, I found out that Howard’s not the brilliant, kind, generous and charismatic guy everyone says he is,” admits Steve. “And then I heard what he did to you, and...”

“Do you really think I’m a stuck up jerk?” Tony asks quietly. “Like... like I think I’m better than everyone else?”

Frowning, Steve puts a hand on Tony’s knee, reassuringly. “No.”

“I get if you do,” he says. “I mean, I do act like an asshole sometimes. Most of the time. I’m a prick, actually.”

“Tones...”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Just—Okay, Steve, it’s your turn. Ask me.”

“Tony, I...”

“Just ask me truth or dare,” Tony begs. “Please.”

Steve hesitates. His small, frail fingers trace circles into Tony’s knee. It traces three circles before he speaks. 

“Truth, or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Do you have a crush on Pepper?”

He chokes on air at the blunt question, punching himself in the chest as he recoils, blanket around them thrashing as Tony coughs. “W—What?”

“Do you like Pepper?” Bucky asks as well. 

“I mean... yeah, I like her, I guess. She’s a nice girl.”

“No,” Steve deadpans. “Do you have a crush on her?”

“I don’t know,” Tony mutters.

“Do you think she’s pretty?”

christine was the dictionary definition of pretty. 

“Beautiful,” Tony corrects. 

“Do you ever fantasize about her?” asks Bucky, looking the boy dead in the eyes, his own a piercing blue. An uncanny resemblance to the eyes of a husky. An emotionally confused, frustrated husky. “You ever think about kissing her? About holding her hand, about taking her to a school dance? Don’t tell me—wow, Stark, you sly dog! Do you ever think about _fucking_ her? Making her yours?”

_‘trust me, tony,’ christine had whispered into his ear. ‘make me yours.’_

“Bucky!” Steve cries, furious. “Shut up!”

_‘i don’t—_

_“What the fuck are you guys doing?”_

The three boys go silent, pausing as they hear Rhodey jumping down from his bunk. Steve switches the flashlight off and tears the blanket off of them. 

Rhodey walks over to the light switch, turning it on, much to the dismay of the other boys trying to sleep. They grumble and curse, but they don’t wake up, thankfully. 

“It’s two in the morning,” Rhodey groans, crossing his arms. “Your yapping woke me up.”

“Sorry,” Tony grumbles, head hung over. 

When Steve and Bucky sit in guilty silence, Rhodey sighs in defeat. “Alright. I know our cabin doesn’t really give a shit about lights out, we all do. But Maria and Coulson are really jittery about the whole missing kid thing, and they’re gonna get pissy if they notice anyone awake during the middle of the night. That’s the time that they think the boy disappeared.” He pauses, rubbing his eyes. “Just... try to go to sleep. It’s been a long day, and you guys need it. Please. For me.”

Bucky and Tony climb out of bed, walking to their own like two petulant children being scolded by their fathers. Steve gets under his own covers, shoving his head into his pillow. 

“Goodnight, guys,” Rhodey says, and then everything is black again. 


	5. the curious case of the missing boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those four words are the end of the beginning. The beginning of a shitshow of bad decisions, of Tony’s life taking a turn for the worst. Those four words have as much of an effect on Tony as the four words, ‘your mother is dead.’ Those four words ruin any hope he ever had of happiness, of joy. 
> 
> Those four words are a bomb, a bomb of grief and horror—upon said four words, Tony goes silent. His heart drops, and his eyes go wide, scanning the room for any signs of the truth. It’s a joke. A lie. It has to be. 
> 
> “You’re—You’re lying,” Loki says, almost laughing, but he looks scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took me such a long time to get out!! it was getting boring for a little while because this chapter is a bit more transitional than anything, but trust me. you’re gonna want to read it all.

Looking back, Tony can determine the exact moment where everything went to shit—the turning point of his summer. And, quite possibly, his entire life. The moment that the entire mess started, and his world tilted on its axis. 

Thor and Tony were busy walking shoulder by shoulder and discussing NFL football. The rest of the Emmaus cabin walks in a big group alongside them, silent with only the sound of leaves crunching beneath their feet. It’s a breezy morning, thankfully. A great contrast to the burning temperatures that became a routine to get used to. 

The sound of police sirens rushing into the camp makes everyone pause in their tracks.

“What the...”

Three police cars, lights flashing red and blue, park in the middle of the main path. A large crowd of half-asleep campers, the promise of breakfast long gone from their interest, whisper and stare in wonder. 

Maria Hill and Phil Coulson, in almost perfect sync, burst through the office cabin’s doors, children and teens splitting into a walkway for them like the red sea. 

Officers get out of their cars. Hands holding notepads, black shoes stepping over the cigarettes that a few of them discard onto the pavement. 

“Alright, everyone,” Phil says, turning to the forming crowd. “Turn around and get in the dining hall. I hear they’re serving chicken and waffles.”

Tony had stared at the cops, an unmoving body in a sea of campers who brush past him in an effort to be the first to eat. Somehow, no one even regards the situation, not even batting an eye. He’s the last to stop staring at the officers in discontent, but only after Bucky tugs on his hand to snap him out of it. 

And so, it all started with those police cars. 

Those damned police cars. 

—

At every meal for the next few days, Tony sits in between Steve and Bucky. He doesn’t realize it at first, not until Bruce and Clint comment on the fact that the couple had Tony sandwiched between them for these past several dinners. 

It’s almost... weird. Well, less weird, but foreign. He’s so used to the boys being attached at the hip; constantly bickering and touching each other all over in the littlest ways. Now, when Tony looks to his right, all he sees is Steve, pushing around the food on his plate. Then he looks to his left, and all he sees is Bucky mashing his potatoes up like a toddler. It’s foreign, but welcome. 

The two boys eventually become more clingy on him with each passing day. They both tug at his sleeve like two sad puppies wishing for attention, and occasionally, either Bucky will rest his chin on Tony’s shoulder or Steve will loop his elbow with Tony’s arm. 

If Rhodey, Thor, Bruce, Clint, or Scott even notice it, they don’t make any comments. Even Loki gives them a strange look when he stops by their table, but after a pointed glance from his adoptive brother, he keeps his mouth shut.

It’s unavoidable for Tony to feel bad, honestly, like he’s intruding on something private, or sacred. He’s always been under the impression that the two’s relationship was untouchable, like nothing could come between them, and now Tony is, quite literally, always between them. Even when they just happen to be walking side by side. Bucky on his left, Steve on his right. Like the moon and the sun. 

And he’s happy about it. 

—

When they go to their track activities, Maria Hill forces her boys to sit on the floor silently as she lists off some ‘new safety procedures,’ as she calls them. 

“Rule number one,” she sighs, looking sickly, as if stress is causing her a great deal of sleep deprivation. “Do not leave your track, during activities, at any time. If you need to use the restroom, take a buddy with you. Run it by your counselor, which is me, if you need to leave the area.”

“What the fuck?” breathes Rhodey. 

“Rule number two; don’t wander off to any unlisted areas of camp. If you are in snack shack for an activity, do not fucking go to the lake to say hi to your girlfriend or boyfriend. Stay in the snack shack area. This goes for any other areas, as well.”

“Jesus,” says Bruce. 

Clearly, the idea of a lack of freedom is new to long time campers here. Even on his first day, Tony could tell that it was a laid back atmosphere all around, where anyone could get away with anything, regardless of the rules or procedures. Everything’s changing, and no one likes it. Not even the counselors. 

“And finally, rule number three,” Maria manages, looking down at her clipboard, face drained of color. “If anyone,” she says grimly, “And I mean anyone, finds you outside of your cabin after curfew?”

Maria glares at Tony, specifically. 

“You will be in deep shit.”

The boys are dead silent, watching the woman above them with carefulness. 

“Understood?”

“Yes, Ms. Hill.”

No one is really able to enjoy themselves anymore, not with the everlasting blanket of anxiety and questions. The missing boy is, quite frankly, a mystery. No one knows what happened to him. His parents haven’t been heard from since, and they wouldn’t even pick up the phone when Coulson attempted to notify them of their son’s unknown whereabouts.

And the saddest part is? None of the campers really give it a second thought. 

—

A new truth comes out, finally. Some news. 

Now, Tony can’t say for sure that it’s a fact—rumors spread, but lies spread faster. All he heard was that Natasha overheard some teenage girls from the Athens cabin who overheard a few counselors discussing something about Brock Rumlow. (God, that’s confusing. Mindfuck.)

They say that, on the night of Harley Keener’s disappearance, Rumlow saw the boy out by the river in the middle of the night. He had scolded the boy, told him to go back to his cabin, and decided that it was too late to rule out any punishments at that moment, so he waited until morning. When morning came, Rumlow could not find the boy anywhere. Harley had vanished from thin air. 

Tony asks Maria about it, not expecting to get the answer he ends up receiving. “Yes,” the woman says bitterly. “It’s true. Mark my words, Rumlow should be in jail right now, for handling that problem in all the wrong ways. He didn’t even escort the kid back to his cabin, for fuck’s sake. The only reason he’s not behind bars is because that asshole administrator, Jasper Sitwell, is fighting for his rights, for whatever reason.”

“Is he a suspect?” asks Tony, arms crossed. “Are they investigating it at all?”

The woman sighs. 

“I’m not at the liberty to say, Stark.”

—

Natasha, Pepper, Loki, and Peter are hanging out in their cabin one night. It’s still against the rules for them to be out and about, but since it’s not past ten yet and it’s still cabin time, they can only assume that it wouldn’t be punishable. Not like they’d care, anyways. 

Everyone does their own thing for a while; a few people play cards on the floor, Bucky and Natasha prop their phones up and film TikToks, and Tony sits on his bed with Peter snuggled up next to him, the little boy playing games on Tony’s phone. 

It’s peaceful. It’s good. The room is full of laughter, a light energy, which is a great contrast to the looming lack of control outside. 

Cue the sharp, almost anxious knock at the door.

Steve springs up from the floor to answer it, carefully stacking his cards on the floor so no one can see them. Phil Coulson practically bursts through the door before Steve can even open it all the way. 

“Stark!” shouts Coulson in a panic, to which everyone’s eyes land on Tony. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s your father,” the man croaks. “Howard is on the phone in the office.”

—

Tony should have seen it coming. 

He realizes that Howard must have been getting bored without Tony to use as an outlet for his anger/stress, so it’s no surprise that he decides to do that over the phone. He sure as hell wouldn’t do it out of care, that’s for sure. 

The office lady, as she sees Tony quietly come through the door with an apprehensive scowl on his face, frantically motions for him to come behind the counter, holding up a phone to her ear. Her smile is blinding, and fake, just as fake as the first day Tony met her. “Oh, yes, yes, Mr. Stark. Here comes little Anthony right now! I’ll hand the phone over to him, have a great day!”

He braces himself for impact as she passes him a typical phone with a string, like you’d find in a classroom. He sighs. “Yeah, dad?”

“Anthony,” says Howard’s voice—a cold, calculating tone, as always, of course. “It’s been a while since we’ve talked.”

“Not nearly long enough,” Tony mutters. 

“Just because I’m not there physically doesn’t mean I won’t let you have it when you’re home,” Howard says, so that’s that. 

The boy glances at his watch. 

“So,” his father says, almost sounding... like he doesn’t know what to say next. “I’ve heard of the rumors about a missing camper named Harley Keener. What’s that about?”

“Don’t know. It was a few days ago, no one has, uh...” he looks at the receptionist, who is failing miserably at pretending not to be listening in. He’s not sure if he should make it obvious what the conversation is about. “No one has gotten any news.”

“What do you mean?”

Tony scoffs, already knowing that he’s going to get annoyed. “What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’? No one has heard from the kid’s parents, the disappearance itself is a mystery, and quite frankly, the entire fucking camp is acting a damn fool with the new rules and shit.”

“Tragic,” Howard says. “Don’t feed me that shit, Anthony. Don’t sit here and tell me that the camp doesn’t have a protocol for this type of tomfoolery. Obviously, they know something.”

Jesus fucking Christ, the asshole is turning it around on Tony. It’s typical Howard Stark behavior, whenever the two have a conversation—he’s always trying to jump on Tony for being wrong, for not knowing everything, and it’s been that way for as long as he can remember. It makes it so fucking frustrating to talk to his father.

“Well, in other news,” Tony growls, evading the subject, “I’m not dead, so there’s that.”

“Surprising. Tell me about it.”

“It’s 90 degrees out, today. The cabin bathrooms are far from designer; they’re disgusting, but I’ve gotten used to it. I got into a fight in the first half hour I walked onto the property. I was almost attacked by chickens, and yesterday, I was trapped under a canoe and almost drowned. Overall, I’m having a goddamn blast.”

“Did you win?” Howard asks. 

“Win what?”

“The fight.”

He scoffs. “Yes, I won the fight. The counselor had to drag me off of him.”

“Who was he?”

Hesitating, Tony tells a little white lie. The fact that Hammer was his opponent is nothing favorable to hear about Stark Industries’ competitor; it could be used against the company. That’s the last thing that anyone wants. “Some nobody, I guess. He just thought he was better than me.”

The tension is thick as butter. A frozen stick of butter. 

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

Clearing his throat, Howard doesn’t make much of an effort to ask Tony about the fight—not even if he’s okay, but what the fuck ever. “Your mother’s death anniversary is coming up,” the man says dully, as if it doesn’t hold much meaning to him. “I’ve arranged a memorial in her name to be built in New York.”

“Her favorite city,” Tony mutters. 

“She was always a bit of a ditz,” Howard remarks, and Tony wants to reach through the speaker and punch him in the fucking eye. “But she was docile. I loved her to death.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” he growls. 

“She always had a soft spot for you, Anthony,” Howard says. “I always insisted it was foolish of her. But I’m afraid you shared the same stubbornness.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m going to have to let you go now, I have a meeting. I just wanted to be sure that you didn’t kill yourself yet. It would be a shame if you weren’t able to attend my expo in August.”

Of course. Another fucking expo. Another excuse for Howard to put Tony on display like a fucking zoo animal, with business men who prod at him about taking over the company and Teen Vogue reporters asking him invasive questions about his love life to publish in the next magazine (Tony was on last month’s edition after he was caught at a Starbucks tipping a barista two hundred dollars). Journalists are another story. Christine was a journalist. Fuck, she’ll probably be there, fuck—

“Suck a dick,” Tony spits, slamming the phone into the receiver without much thought, the pounding of his chest and the ache in his forehead not helping at all when he storms back to the cabin. 

—

It takes Tony two more days to realize that he has a big, fat, gay crush on not one, but two boys. 

It fucking blows. 

Of course, the lingering touches and the constant protective clinginess doesn’t stop; it only gets stronger as each day goes by, with the way Steve and Bucky stay on either side of him almost constantly, elbows linked or hands laced together. Tony does a lot of talking to a lot of different people, that’s a given, but the boys ward off any would-be suitors with nothing more than a glare. 

Then, he begins to notice that Bucky treats Steve like he’s his entire world. 

On his own, Bucky Barnes is a morally good, reckless disaster; a bit of a jackass when it comes to certain things, but especially Steve and Tony’s safety. It’s cute, in a way, how much he fusses over Steve getting a little paper cut, or shoves crackers down Tony’s throat after he skips lunch. 

Steve Rogers is another story. He’s got a handful of health problems that Tony’s only heard a little bit about, but since Bucky carries around an inhaler despite not needing it himself, he only assumes that Steve has asthma. One day at activities, when Clint had asked the boy to grab him a green arrow during archery, Steve had grabbed the red one without giving it a second thought. 

“He said green,” Tony said , looking to Clint, who only shrugged and went on with his bow and arrow. 

“Oh,” Steve muttered, looking at the other arrow in his hand. “Shit. Sorry, Clint.”

“It’s fine, man, I know you got that green-red shit.”

Tony had learned about protanopia colorblindness in his reading class, if you can believe it. It only took him a moment to realize what the whole ordeal meant; and that the universe was not kind to Steve Rogers. He slung his arm over Steve’s shoulder, who practically melted into the touch. 

“I get it,” Tony said softly, adding colorblind Steve Rogers to his mental list of notes for later. 

Back to the subject at hand. He started to get... infatuated. With the both of them, that is. 

At first, he thought nothing of it. Okay, well, that’s a lie—he definitely thought that something was up. This was new, and although the affection was unexpected when it started, it wasn’t unwelcome. He just assumed that they were becoming protective of him ever since their little under-blanket-truth-or-dare-thing. Kind of like how Rhodey was, originally, taking care of him as a brother would. It’s only when Natasha tells him that hand holding isn’t the most platonic display in the world that he realizes where this is going. 

But he likes where it’s going, and that’s the problem. 

Tony is nothing short of a black sleep, and he damn well knows it. He’s looked up to, envied, in almost any room he walks into, his charisma and style only aiding in his dominance. He’s never had a place to fit into—probably because he’s always kept with such high regards, and no, it’s nothing to brag about. In middle school, he only allowed himself to find a group of friends once. Once. They had only pretended to like him so that he would give them money, so Tony’s efforts came to an end pretty quickly. 

That was a long tangent, anyways—the point is, Steve and Bucky click together like puzzle pieces. A perfect pair, like the sun and moon. Tony’s sol and luna. (there’s some italian for you, hah.) Like ketchup and mustard, or chocolate and strawberries, and it’s fucking frustrating. If Steve and Bucky are ketchup and mustard, then Tony is maple syrup. It doesn’t work.

It’s Bucky and Steve, not... Bucky and Steve and Tony. That just doesn’t have as much of a ring to it. 

He doesn’t fit in with them. There’s no room. 

—

Then, because he hasn’t been tortured enough, the universe decides to add another variable to Tony’s already ridiculous equation. 

Pepper and him get closer and closer with each passing day; when he isn’t sandwiched between tweedle dum and tweedle dee, he’s most likely hanging out with Pepper. The girl is somewhat philosophical, honestly, and always manages to make Tony out his own life into perspective. She manages to do way more than be a friend to him. She’s probably the only person in the world who can put up with his personality, and part of him wonders where she’s been all his life. 

“Peps,” he groans, the itchy grass covering his back, arms, and legs as he lays starfish on the ground, staring up at the dimming sky with cogitation. The cotton candy clouds drift by with each moment, drifting by just like Tony’s... something. He doesn’t really know. “Do you think I need a therapist?”

“I’d expect that you would have a personal one,” the girl says, sitting next to him atop the grassy hill, overlooking the main lake. Campers are still splashing around in the swimming area, laughing and screaming like all kids do. 

“I wish,” Tony scoffs. “I would make them get Dr. Phil to be my therapist. But, like, I’m being serious. You think I need a therapist? Once I’m out of here, back home?”

Pepper sips her cherry cola, almost looking solemn at he prospect of something he said. “Well, this girl. Christine. From what you told me, she’s fucked up your head a lot.”

“A lot.”

“She was eighteen,” she says, almost to herself. “And this—you were only, like, thirteen? That’s a huge age gap. That’s, like, straight up pedophilia. She should be in jail.”

“I wish I weren’t so naive,” Tony mutters, head flopping to its side to look at Pepper above him, her hair flowing in the humid breeze. “I wish... god, I wish I could change so many things. There’s a lot I would do over again.”

“Like what?”

“For one thing, Christine. I would have told her to fucking stop. And, I probably would have made more of an effort to make friends back in middle school.” He scoffs. “I wouldn’t have been such a douchebag. I would change a lot of things.”

A beat of silence, before Pepper speaks again. “I feel like there’s something else that you’re not telling me.”

And it’s true. 

Tony can’t recall the events of that day, like, at all. It was all a blur, when he fought with his mom in the morning because a maid found a juul in his room. Then, Howard went to work, screaming into his phone as he got into his car, something about a financial issue in need of his help. Then, his mom left the house, on her way to town to pick up groceries. Tony had screamed ‘FUCK YOU’ to her as soon as the door closed. Why the fuck did he do that?

Two hours later, an attendant had driven him to the hospital. His mother died on impact of the crash, her body pinned between a truck and a tree on the side of the highway. Her white Chanel purse was the only thing salvaged from the accident. t sits in Tony’s closet to this day. 

Maybe...” he pauses, swallowing his own self pity as his voice struggles to stay at one level. “Maybe, I would... say goodbye to my mom? I never said bye to her.” Pepper looks at Tony sadly. “I can’t remember the last time I said I loved her... It’s stupid, I know—It’s stupid to want to go back and relive it all.”

She puts her hand over his, and Tony hopes the heat is the only reason why his face warms. 

“I don’t think it’s stupid at all.”

—

He has a hard choice to make, as of now.

Before that, let him lay down some background that could be inferred simply by understanding the fact that his life is a fucking disaster. Romance isn’t his thing—well, at least, the long term, monogamous, real shit. It never has been and it probably never will. 

Maybe, in a perfect world, Tony would have loving parents and a healthy mindset; two of the most imperative things to have as a gay teenager in modern society. Maybe, in said perfect world, he’d be... okay with himself. Enough to be in a relationship with a guy or girl he really likes. 

Or, uh, two guys. Yeah. 

Steve and Bucky are somewhat of an enigma to Tony’s observant, observant mind. He had been unsure, at the moment, when the whole ‘sun and moon’ thing began. He thought that he was being fought over, or that he’d have to choose one of them over the other, causing a split in the couple’s relationship. Yeah, there’s no fucking way Tony could ever do that. 

Then he realized that Bucky and Steve must have made some sort of arrangement to, for lack of a better term, share Tony. They haven’t made any attempts to keep him from the other, really. That added another layer of confusion. Why both at the same time?

And so, after a hundred google searches, he realizes that he has, quote on quote, “two hands.”

Polyamory is an extremely new concept to him. 

But it begs the question—how long will this even last? 

Will this strange, unlabeled... whatever this relationship is, ever escalate further? What will happen once the month ends, and Tony goes home? When will they go home? Is he going to fuck this up like he always does?

Oh god, what would Howard say if he found out?

Hang on, Tony’s mind tells him every time he panics at the thought. Howard won’t—he wouldn’t find out. He’s barely around as it is, right? And when he is around, he’s too busy bitching at Tony for the smallest things. He didn’t even notice that one time when Tony came home from school with a black eye, he had only yelled at Tony for having a C in History class. Howard isn’t scary. Tony’s not scared of him. 

But he is. 

Howard would strangle Tony and hide his body in the floorboards. He would fucking kill him; and Tony isn’t exaggerating. It’s the cold, hard truth—if Howard found out that he was dating not one but two boys, Tony would be nothing but a memory in the lives of the people who knew him. Jesus. 

He likes Steve and Bucky. He wants them. But he doesn’t need them. 

...Right?

What he needs is someone that he can depend on. Someone beautiful, who’s honest and intelligent who can keep up with Tony’s mind. He needs someone who’s organized, emotionally and physically, and most importantly, he needs someone who thinks of him as an equal. He needs someone who’s good in the head. 

Pepper is good in the head. 

—

“You’re a destroyer, Odinson,” Clint cries, whacking Thor on top of his skull with a fork. “I can’t believe you did such a thing to me! I’m, like, your best friend!”

“I resent that,” says Bruce, dryly. 

“Alright, second best friend. Bruce is first. But come on! You promised you would be my buddy for paintball!”

“Stark is much more stealthy than you,” Thor remarks. “He actually thinks before acting.”

“I think before acting!” barks Clint. 

“I’m sorry, man, but you don’t,” says Scott. “You’re kinda impulsive when it comes to—“

“I hit all my targets. That should at least count for something.”

“So does Stark.”

Guffawing, Clint throws his hands in the air, the eggs on his plate flying as he drops his fork onto the tray. “I can’t believe this. I’ve know you guys for, what, two months now, but Tony comes for less than two weeks and suddenly he’s everyone’s favorite!”

“He’s a likeable person,” says Natasha. 

“You’re my girlfriend,” pouts Clint. 

Steve, who’s still half asleep as he rests his head on Tony’s shoulder, drawls as the group yells and bickers over the table. “It’s too early for this,” the boy groans. 

Tony, coming to the boy’s defense, puts his arms in the air as well. He tries not to disturb Steve’s head on his shoulder. “Now, now, even though I’m dashingly handsome, charming, smart, and, overall, a pretty great person, we can’t forget about good ol’ Barton—”

“Thank you!” Clint says, exasperated. “I have a lot of redeemable qualities.”

“So does Tony,” says Bucky, next. “He’s courageous, I see myself in him.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” Steve groans. 

Face going flush, the entire table laughs and gasps, not giving Tony much to work with in terms of a witty comeback. That’s, like, his entire personality, goddammit. 

Before he can even get a chance to react, the group goes silent as Loki approaches their table—nothing new, of course. Loki joins them during meals most of the time with Peter in tow. It’s domestic, and it’s a nice time. 

But, instead of a scowl on Loki’s face like always, his annoyed expression is replaced by a scared one. His eyes are blown wide, eyebrows scrunched, with a small, unemotional scowl—this isn’t normal. 

The entire dining hall stares at their table. Silent, watching. 

The next thing Tony notices is that Peter isn’t trailing behind Loki like a baby duck like usual. Peter isn’t even there. 

Instead? A police officer, an angry Maria Hill, Nick Fury, Phil Coulson, and Brock Rumlow tower behind Loki as if they’re his own personal bodyguards, or something. Rather, as if they’re simply escorting him to his demise.

Seeing a man like Nick Fury in the cafeteria is a foreign sight to everyone. The man is almost never seen outside of his office, and majority of campers have never even seen him, the rumors of his missing eye a topic of debate that Tony’s never confirmed nor denied to anyone who’s asked. But now, the director’s standing for all to see. And, well, the fact that he’s here as well is telling enough of the situation. 

Loki looks small. Like a short, lanky child compared to all of the adults. The Emmaus cabin goes silent. 

“Tony Stark,” Maria says, with a sort of strain as of it hurts to speak to him in such a way; as if he’s guilty of a crime he never committed. “We need you to come with us.”

As all eyes settle on him, Tony realizes that it’s him they’re taking to his demise. 

Steve is wide awake by this point, head flying off of Tony’s shoulder at the sight. “What—What did Tony do?”

“Please restrain your boyfriend, Barnes,” Rumlow spits, coming up behind Tony’s chair and grabbing his arm, practically dragging him to his feet, just like before. His heart throbs as they pull him and Loki away. 

“What the fuck!” Steve cries, pushing his chair away as he stands. 

Bucky desperately tries to restrain him. The cabin shouts in protest when Rumlow keeps an iron grip on Tony’s forearm. “Steve—“

“Tony!” 

“It’s okay, guys,” Tony huffs, glaring at Rumlow’s hand on his arm. Can’t this asshole just keep his hands to himself for once? “Get your paws off. This jacket is Prada.”

“Tony, _don’t_,” Maria warns.

“Ms. Hill, what the hell is going on?!”

“ENOUGH!” The officer shouts, beckoning all of the teenagers to silence, yet only temporarily. “Your friend isn’t in trouble. We just need to speak to him.”

“Then what did my brother do?” Thor asks, seething. “The taller one. What did he do?”

“It’s fine, Thor,” the long haired boy says coldly. “Just mind your own business.”

“Sit down,” Rumlow seers. 

“Fuck that,” Thor says. 

“Sit down, Odinson, or else I’ll send your ass home,” hisses Fury, speaking for the first time during the ordeal. 

His voice is enough to make the teens pause in their tracks. It’s almost visible, the way that their fear echoes down their spines. 

Thor reluctantly obeys.

“What did I do?” Tony asks Fury, and then he’s being dragged away. 

—

“I still don’t know what I did wrong,” Tony says shorty, arms crossed as he sits in the same leather chair from the second day of school. Fury’s office is cold, as per usual, and the only thing that’s changed is the additional people around him. 

Loki is slumped into the second leather chair, on the left of Tony, grimacing as Brock Rumlow stares him down. Fury sits in his chair behind the desk, the officer stands next to Fury, and Maria and Phil stand to Tony’s side, like two parents called to a meeting about their son. 

“We just need to ask you a few questions,” the officer says sternly.

“If I may interject, I don’t appreciate the way that Rumlow is standing next to me,” Loki scoffs. “If he may please stop making me uncomfortable, then it would be—“

“Speaking of which, my forearm hurts,” Tony grins. “If you could please tell your monkey to stop manhandling me, I’d also appreciate it.”

Fury glares at Tony, who only gives him a pointed look in return. 

The man had said that Tony is under his protection. Tony can only assume that it would be ongoing; especially considering the fact that Tony has barely caused any trouble in the past weeks. You can’t blame him for trying to rest the waters, first. 

There’s also the fact that Tony just really, really hates Rumlow. 

“Brock, keep your hands off the campers,” the director says slowly. 

The man scowls, backing away from Loki and looking away. 

“Thanks,” the boy sighs, fixing his posture a bit. “Now, shall we get on with this? I’m on a tight schedule.”

“Loki, so do you know what’s happening here, or not?”

“Maybe I do, Stark. Maybe I don’t.”

He officer clears his throat, accepting a file that Fury passes him and opening it up. “Does the name ‘Peter Parker’ sound familiar to either of you boys?”

“Peter?” Loki asks. “Of course it does. Little Peter Parker from the Heron cabin.”

“You know him?” asks Coulson. 

“We both do,” Tony says. “Little boy, eight years old, big brown eyes, cute button nose?”

“What’s your relation to him?”

Loki guffaws. “Uh... he’s been, like, attached to me ever since his first day. I’ve been like a mentor to him ever since, he hangs out with our group of friends—“

“What’s the names of everyone in this group of friends?”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony sighs. 

He blinks. “Tony Stark, Natasha... Romanov, I think? Sam Wilson, Thor Odinson, who’s my brother, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Scott Lang, Pepper Potts, and James Rhodes.”

“Write that down. We’ll have to question them as well.”

Scoffing, Tony throws his hands in the air. “What are we even being questioned for? What’s wrong with Peter?”

”We just want to know what you know.”

”You’re really starting to piss me off,” Loki says.

”There’s no reason for either of you to get pissed off—“

”All _I_ know is that I was in the middle of eating breakfast with my friends and then you dragged me away like a lamb to the slaughter. I’m beyond the point of being pissed.”

“My god,” Maria groans. “Tony, Loki, I don’t think it takes a genius to understand what’s going on here.”

“I resent that statement. I’m very well a genius. I graduated middle school with 9 high school credits and a scholarship to M.I.T.”

“Tryhard,” Loki scoffs. “Honestly, Stark—“

“_Peter Parker is missing_,” Rumlow says coldly. 

Pause. 

You know how Tony said that the police cars were the beginning of it all? Well, this moment is the end of the beginning—that’s right. The party’s only just starting. 

Those four words are the end of the beginning. The beginning of a shitshow of bad decisions, of Tony’s life taking a turn for the worst. Those four words have as much of an effect on Tony as the four words, ‘your mother is dead.’ Those four words ruin any hope he ever had of happiness, of joy. 

Those four words are a bomb, a bomb of grief and horror—upon said four words, Tony goes silent. His heart drops, and his eyes go wide, scanning the room for any signs of the truth. It’s a joke. A lie. It has to be. 

“You’re—You’re lying,” Loki says, almost laughing, but he looks scared. “No,” he says, “Peter’s with his cabin, right? I saw Peter last night, before lights out. He—He was there.”

“His cabin woke up to his empty bunk,” Fury says. “We thought that you might have any ideas.”

The world feels inclosing, crushing around him, the rhythmic beat in his pulse and his chest going faster and faster as seething tears form behind his eyes. 

“Stark?” 

Peter. Oh god, Peter. The kid. 

“You’re lying!” Loki screams. 

The familiar hand of Maria Hill rests on Tony’s hand, probably in an attempt to comfort but instead it just makes him flinch. He smacks her away, jumping to his feet. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no—“

“Sit down, Stark!” he can hear Rumlow bark. 

“Shut the fuck up! He’s not okay!”

“Odinson, I swear, if you don’t—“

“Don’t touch him, Brock,” Maria growls. 

Peter, a little ray of sunshine with his missing front tooth and his infatuation with Tony’s inventions. Who’d watch cartoons on Tony’s phone, who’d laugh when Sam and Bucky faceplanted into the oak tree outside the cabin.

He’s missing. He’s gone. 

Jarvis’s voice speaks from his watch, unemotional as always but it’s fucking music to Tony’s ears. One thing that will stay with him, always, despite the fact that so many people in the room don’t understand what the robot is. “Sir, would you like me to activate the ‘my memes are ironic and my anxiety is chronic’ protocol?”

“N-No,” Tony cries. 

Jarvis promptly ignores him. “I would diagnose with a severe anxiety attack. I recommend you breathe in counts of ten and take a seat.”

“No!”

He should have taken a seat, because as he attempts to step forward, his mind goes numb and then he fades into nothingness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooo peter where are u


	6. only the good die young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No!!” Tony screams, hot tears pouring out of his eyes and down below onto the dirt. “Peter—Pete, no, please, no—“
> 
> Thor and Bruce hold him back.
> 
> “Oh my god,” Clint sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> read to the end:((((

“So it was, like, the beginning of eighth grade,” Tony explains, hands waving in the air as he sets the scene of his story. The rest of the cabin (as well as Natasha, Pepper, Loki, and Peter, but that’s typical) sit in a circle, pillows and blankets thrown on top of them as they munch on snacks. It’s already past lights out time, but they know that if the girls and younger boys sneak out quietly then they’ll get away with it. “This was before Johnny Hammer started talking shit about me, and even though HammerTech and Stark Industries were still competitors, the two of us were still friends. That’s kind of how it was all of middle school.”

“You were friends with him?!” Rhodey sputters.

“Before all the fame, sex, drugs, booze,” Tony replies. “Yeah. We were assholes in arms. He’s still an asshole, but I’m actually trying to work on myself.”

“Get on with your stupid ass story.”

“Don’t be fucking rude,” Steve yelps in a Kim Kardashian voice, throwing a pillow at Clint and whacking him with it several times.

“So it was the beginning of eighth grade,” Tony says. “I had just turned fourteen, and I was starting to get with a bad crowd. I hung out with a lot of high schoolers, mostly because Johnny egged me on to go to their parties, but whatever. I smoked a handful of times, and I was kind of on the verge of making it, like, a routine thing. I knew a lot of dealers and for a week straight I was high every night.”

“What’s a dealer?” Peter asks sweetly.

“Honey, I don’t think you should be listening to this story,” Pepper says.

“I’m fine, though! I’m not gonna do drugs or anythin.’ I’m smart.”

Loki fishes in his pocket for something, pulling out a phone and a set of airpods. “Here, child. Listen to the Taylor Swift music.”

“Her new music?” Peter asks, blinking. “My Aunt May says that her new music is bad. Her old ones are best.”

“I’ll put on her old music,” Loki sighs.

Once Peter has the airpods in his ears as he smiles in glee, mouthing the lyrics to the song that Tony can barely hear, they go back to the story.

“I had three bags of ecstasy tablets in my jacket pocket,” Tony says slowly. “It was a group of us, and Hammer was there. We were all in the back of a Burger King parking lot. Middle of the night. Some old bitch called the police on us.”

“Did they find the tablets?”

“They forced me to pour them out and crush them with my shoe—but I was smart about it!” Tony grins cockily. “I pretended to pour them out on the street but I actually dumped them on the grass. It was so dark out that they didn’t notice that I was literally stomping on nothing.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bruce scoffs. “You did ecstasy?”

“Once,” he says. “That was the first night I even had it. I probably won’t do it again.”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“They called my mom. She had to pick me up from the parking lot, and she was fucking pissed.”

Tony glances towards Peter, who’s obediently staring at the floor with the airpods stuck in his ears. He softly moves his head to the beat, his eyes big yet tired as he most likely waits until he can be included again.

Steve shifts, looking uncomfortable. Everyone else kind of appears to be debating something in their heads. Scott just looks plain interested. “Well...” Bucky says, “You don’t... do that stuff anymore, do you?”

He blinks. “No. No, I don’t. I quit after less than a month. I’ve hit a juul once or twice since, but, uh, I’m trying to quit that too.”

Sighs of relief.

“Thank god,” Pepper murmurs.

Loki takes the earbuds out of Peter’s ears.

“Is it done? Can I know what a dealer is yet? Isn’t dealers from card games?”

“That’s different.”

Tony purses his lips. “Pete, I need you to make a promise to me, okay?”

He knows that the little boy looks up to him. He knows that Peter will promise it no matter what, so maybe that’s why Tony decides to be a good fucking person rather than a shitty one who could’ve prevented something but didn’t.

The thought of the kid, high as a kite as he runs around with a bunch of teenage junkies, makes Tony sick to his stomach. He swallows. “Make good choices. Don’t ever give into people trying to pressure you into stuff. I’ve made countless mistakes that ruined my life, and I’m only fourteen. Don’t be an idiot like I am. Also—If you find someone worth holding onto, never let them go. If your Aunt May tells you she loves you, say it back. Don’t let the assholes get to your head, and never apologize for being the smartest guy in the room.”

Peter looks enthralled. Tony decides that he’s gonna keep this little boy.

—

When Tony fainted, he later learns, he had hit his head on the corner of Fury’s desk, leaving a red, ugly cut on his temple that he’s practically mortified to see when he wakes up in the nurse’s office.

He’s laying in one of those uncomfortable cots that he’s always hated, back strained from lack of decent cushion and a pounding in his arm. Jesus, he must have fallen on it.

“Oh. You’re awake.”

Nurse Bonquisha, a large, monotone woman, looks at Tony uninterestedly as she chews her gum.

“What time is it?” he croaks out.

“Noon. Almost lunch.”

“Where’s Loki?”

“Not arrested, that’s all I can say. You need an aspirin, or somethin’?”

Tony pushes himself off the cot and onto his weak, jiggly legs that tremble once he puts his weight down. What the fuck. “What happened?”

Bonquisha shrugs. “Fainted.”

Fucking bitch.

“You—You really are...” stumbling towards a small mirror on a desk, he pulls it to his face and inspects the burning spot on his forehead. Fuck. A bloody, one inch long cut rests on his skin that practically ruins any dreams he had of being on the cover of Teen Vogue. That’s gonna leave a scar for sure. “You really are no help at all, you know that, Bonquisha?”

The woman tosses him a bandaid.

—

Loki tells the rest of the group everything that happened in the office while Tony is unconscious in the nurses office, that prick.

He meets everyone at lunch; before he even manages to get to the table, the entire cafeteria gawks at him as he walks past. What shocks them more is the bandage on his forehead that practically screams ‘go ahead and make up assumptions about me.’

He walks by the Heron cabin’s empty table. It sends the same wave of grief down into his stomach, pooling and spilling out, bile forming in his throat that he swallows down. Peter’s table.

“Tony!” a voice yells, cracking like mad, but Tony can’t tell if it’s simply because of puberty or actual emotion. He turns around, and Bucky and Steve practically throw themselves on top of him, entrapping him in a bear hug that crushes his spine.

Don’t forget, that little voice inside of him says. Operation Pepperony.

“I’m fine,” he says, hugging the boys back before stiffening and pulling away, much to their disappointment. It’s fine. They need this. Tony needs this. “Just a little cut. No biggie.”

The rest of the cabin launches themselves at him too, questions rapid fire as Sam captures him in an un-brutal headlock. It’s funny, really, how much they fuss over him.

“Oh, god, Tony,” Pepper gasps, “People have been saying that Rumlow slapped you so hard that you were knocked out. Is that true?”

“I already told you it wasn’t!” Loki barks.

“I can’t trust your judgment.”

“How bad’s the cut?”

“What did they say?”

“Are you getting expelled?!”

“Tony, did someone hit you?”

“Oh my fucking god, my head is about to explode,” Tony groans. He’s met with identical looks of mortification. “What the—no. I mean, stop asking me so many questions. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fi—“ Clint starts, cut off by Bruce elbowing him in the stomach.

“I’m starving,” he says, giving a pointed glance to their audience. “Can I please eat something and then I’ll tell you guys everything? Like, back at the cabin? Alone?”

Tony waves a hand and links arms with Pepper. He doesn’t miss the way that Steve and Bucky practically crumble with disappointment.

Natasha shoots them a strange look, then to Tony, then to the boys, and then back at Tony. “Uh...”

“Sit down, guys,” Pepper commands with finality. “I’m gonna wait with Tony in the line.”

“Thanks, Peps,” he says, strutting away with her in tow.

Emmaus watches as the two walk away, dumbstruck looks painted on their faces.

  
—

“Poor Peter,” Scott croaks out, pulled close into Rhodey’s body as his hands rub over his eyes.

The cabin sits in a circle around the room, scattered about; some on the floor, some on the bunks, some sitting on top of table tops. The blinds are shut close, leaving the room feeling muggy and dim, despite reflecting how all of the teenagers feel inside.

Loki and Tony sit side by side on the floor; the topic of conversation, due to their experience this morning. “F-Fury said,” Tony utters, “That his cabin woke up to an empty bunk.”

“And I saw him last night,” Loki adds. “It must have happened during night.”

“But where could he have gone in the middle of the night?” asks Steve.

“Don’t know.”

“There’s no way the kid ran away,” says Sam. “That’s not like Pete at all. Tony, Loki, you knew him better than anyone—“

“Which is exactly why we were called to the office first,” Loki says.

“What do you think happened to him, then? He obviously didn’t just vanish into thin air.”

“We don’t know,” groans Tony. “My god. Someone or something did... did something to him, maybe. I don’t know. What we do know is this; Peter wasn’t the first and he probably won’t be the last. This can’t be a coincidence—him going missing less than two weeks after another boy from his own cabin. Maybe the little boys are being... targeted.”

“Targeted for what?” asks Natasha, grimly.

“I don’t know.”

“They’re investigating. They’ve taped off, like, the entire camp. They’re only letting us leave our cabins during meal times.”

“This a repeat of the last situation,” Bucky says, almost to himself. He turns to Tony, fear in his eyes as he wraps Steve up in his arms. “Tony, have you even heard what the fuck is happening? Almost a third of the campers have been picked up so far, and that’s only from this morning. I think they sent out a message to all the parents about, like, everything.”

“Have you guys’ parents heard?” Tony asks.

One by one, everyone exchanges questioning glances around the room. Tony knows the answer well enough. They hadn’t.

“Our sister, Hela, is a counselor,” Thor says after a moment. “You know, the tall emo lady with long hair who runs paintball?”  
  
“That’s her?!”

“Yeah,” the boy hums. “Our father is trying to force her to take us back home. She’s going to finish out the whole summer regardless, and since we don’t want to leave either...”

“We’re going to try to stay,” Loki finishes.

There’s a brief silence, not awkward nor unawkward, but it’s prevalent nonetheless.

“I hope you don’t leave,” Bruce says quietly, twiddling his fingers.

“Me, too.”

“I’d kill myself if you guys went home.”

“That fucking blows.”

“Anyone else?”

“Me,” Scott says. “My girlfriend back home—“

“Girlfriend?!” Bucky gasps.

The boy looks taken aback at the response, hand on his heart in offense. “Yes, Bucky! Girlfriend!” Scott retorts, “And she won’t stop texting me, telling me to go home. She said that my mom told her about it after hearing about the first missing kid on facebook, and now they both want me to go home.”

“What’s her name?” Rhodey asks.

“That’s what you’re most hung up on?!”

“Are you sure you have a girlfriend, Scott?” asks Sam, cynically. “I mean, you’ve never mentioned her before, and...”

“What the hell are you all trying to say? That it’s unbelievable I have a girlfriend?!”

“All I’m saying is that—“

“What, you don’t think I’m hot enough?” Scott huffs, glaring at Rhodey. “I’ll have you know that I am sexy as fuck—“

“What the fuck,” Pepper mutters under her breath, watching as all the boys stand up and begin to shove into each other.

“That’s not what I meant,” Rhodey says calmly. “Trust me, you’re hot, Scott, but...”

In the madness, Tony laces his fingers through Peppers’, it’s something he does without thinking much about it. It feels right, with her frail, dainty fingers and his experiment-scarred, hyperactive ones. The sadness of the day drives him, honestly. He just wants attention.

Pepper scoffs, pulling away.

“Is now really the time for this, boys?!” she shouts.

“Her name is Hope,” Scott says, nonetheless. “And she’s the most beautiful girl in the—“

“In your imagination?” says Sam.

Tony probably looks pathetic as he tugs at Pepper’s arm in neediness. His eyes feel heavy and all he wants to do is go home. To be away from here. It’s too loud.

His boys—No, Steve and Bucky—would give him attention regardless.

Steve clears his throat awkwardly.

“Shut up, Sam.”

“I’m joking, I’m joking.”

“The kid is missing and you guys think it’s a joke,” Bruce says shortly.

“We never—“

“Oh my god, seriously?”

“Just shut up!” Tony snaps. “Just—Just shut the fuck up.”

“The kid could be dead,” Natasha says grimly.

“Don’t,” Tony seethes.

“You don’t know what happened to him.”

“You don’t know he’s dead!”

“I know well enough,” Natasha says. “I know Harley hasn’t been found. He’s probably dead too.”

“Natasha, what the fuck!?” Bucky yelps. “Don’t say that. You know how Tony felt about—“

“Shut up, Barnes,” Clint argues.

“Look, I know you’re a kiss-ass to your girlfriend, but—“

“Fuck you.”

“Pepper, please,” Tony cries, turning to the girl, who stares ahead at the scene in silence. He doesn’t exactly know what he’s asking her for, but he knows that it’s important.

Scratch that. He knows what he’s asking for.

“Peter was just a fucking kid!”

“Yeah, and he’s a kid who’s gone now. There’s nothing else we can do about it.”

“Pepper—“

“You need to stay in your lane, Natasha, you bitch!”

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST CALL HER?!”

Shoving his head into Pepper’s shoulder, Anthony Stark cries. He cries and sobs and croaks out curses, out of the loss of innocence, of the loss of a child. It hits him hard, and it doesn’t hit him any less when Pepper hugs him back.

—

The camp is covered in police tape by the time the sun sets.

Campers are signed out one by one. It’s mostly little kids that go, with their suitcases trailing behind them as they cry and say goodbye to their friends.

Tony watches as they leave, not feeling sympathetic at all. If they stay, then they could be next. The thought of another Peter disappearing... it brings a sick feeling to his stomach.

And these stupid, bitch ass teenagers won’t stop going up to him and asking about it. ‘Oh, Stark, didn’t you hang out with that little kid that went missing? Peter?’ Fucking assholes. He has to hold back punching at least four people in the face in less than an hour.

Loki, however, is getting the worst of it.

Some rumors say that Loki pushed Peter into the lake and drowned him in the middle of the night. Some rumors say that Loki and Tony both buried the kid after accidentally killing him playing archery. He doesn’t know which rumor is worse, but what he knows is this; Loki Odinson can’t catch a fucking break.

Earlier, Loki left the cabin to retrieve his phone charger from his own suitcase, only to take an abnormally long amount of time. So much so that Thor had grown too concerned to wait. Tony, Thor, and Bucky walked outside to see Loki being kicked to a pulp by a group of teenagers—probably sixteen years old. The dirt on the floor covered his sweater vest and the side of his face as he grunted in pain, too small to fight back.

Scott had to hold Steve back as Thor decked one of the boys in the fucking nose.

The ordeal was brutal. Too brutal for Tony to even want to think back on it, but let’s just say that Bucky almost snapped someone’s arm like a twig. Thankfully, no adults were involved. Maybe the sixteen year olds were too humiliated by the fact that they were curb stomped by a bunch of kids younger than them, Tony doesn’t fucking know.

But whatever—Loki is fine, by the way. Just a few bruises, but the boys had gotten to him before something too bad could happen.

Today’s just a shitty day, overall.

  
—

  
“I already told you, Mom,” Tony groans, tossing his backpack on the floor as he walks into the corridor, his mother slamming the door behind them as she storms inside as well. “They didn’t give them to me. I got them from the dealer on my own.”

“You,” Maria hisses, jabbing a manicured nail into Tony’s chest. “Will not hang out with these kids anymore. No more sneaking out, no more Johnny Hammer, no more lying. I’ve had enough of this, Anthony—“

“My name is Tony!” the boy retorts.

“I don’t want to hear a word.” As she backs away, Maria runs her hands over her eyes and then through her hair, fighting to maintain her composure. She sighs, but looks defeated. Resigned. “Tony, I can’t... I know I cannot stop you. But if you are going to... to drink, or smoke, or whatever it is that you do, I’d rather you do it in the house. That’s the least you could do for your poor old mother.”

Tony shifts his feet.

“Sometimes, Tony,” the woman says quietly, “You scare the hell out of me.”

She smiles, eyes tired. “You do. You really do. You act like—You act like a fool, out there. The world is cruel. I’m afraid you’ll grow crueler.”

“As cruel as the man you married?” he says lowly.

Maria cries. Hot, fat, wet tears stream down her porcelain face.

“Worse,” she says, and then Tony shoots out of bed.

—

Pepper wakes up to her phone buzzing with a text message at 3:22 in the morning.

She blinks a few times, the brightness of her phone overwhelming to her eyes in the pitch black, but the name ‘tony stank’ is enough to get her vision working in an instant.

_tony stank: hey ms. potts_

_tony stank: are u awake by any chance_

She scoffs, pulling the cover over her head. There are other girls trying to sleep; she’s not gonna be a bitch and wake them up by being on her phone out in the open.

_me: Now I am. What’s up_

_tony stank: wanna hang_

_me: Fuck no_

_tony stank: whyy_

_me: It’s the middle of the night first off_

_me: Also it’s the middle of the fucking night_

_tony stank: time is a construct created by cowards_

_tony stank: peps_

_tony stank: come on please_

_tony stank: there’s too much shit on my mind right now and i just can’t stay laying in bed i have to do something with my head_

_tony stank: too many thoughts yknow_

Too many thoughts. It’s something that the girl has an understanding towards, because Tony is the epitome of too many thoughts for one brain to think of; the boy has been through a lot. Today is just another shitty situation to add to his list of mental trauma.

Pepper caves, pulling herself out of bed and grabbing around for her jacket that she knows she left hanging on her bunk. Thank god she took the bottom one, it’d be such a nuisance to have to creep down the ladder.

_tony stank: also i’m outside ur cabin_

“Oh my god,” she huffs while smiling to herself, opening the door to a disheveled looking Tony.

Once again, she surprises herself after having to look down to meet his eye level. Pepper is only a little above average height for her age, first off, at an ordinary five feet and five inches. Tony, however, makes her feel like a giant. He barely rises past her nose.

It’s not a bad thing. Just something to get used to.

Closing the door behind her, Pepper gives the boy an unimpressed look. “What now?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“You saw me all day,” she rolls her eyes. “You were practically glued to me, and that especially didn’t help whenever the wonder twins would glare daggers into my back for taking their newest.”

“Steve and Bucky are relentless.”

“Why are you avoiding them, then?”

They begin to walk through the night, barely being able to see the trees as they weave through the cabin area. “I mean...” Tony says, “I guess I’ve been feeling suffocated. Not just by them. By everything.”

“They like you a lot.”

“I like them, too,” Tony says quickly, then covering his mouth as if he didn’t mean to say it aloud. “Fuck. I mean... I like them a lot, but I don’t think I know what I want, or anything like that. I’m keeping my space.”

“Why?”

He shrugs.

Pepper knows well enough.

“I just need to get by,” Tony says. “Two more weeks.”

“You’ve done well so far.”

“And look what’s happened so far.”

She purses her lips, stepping over a tree stump. “None of this—Nothing that’s happened is your fault.”

A scoff. “I heard what some kids were saying. That me and Loki... God. And then there were some girls that said everything started happening when I came to camp.”

“They’re only saying that because you’re the only interesting thing other than the disappearances. They want something to blame it on.”

“And that fight today?”

“That fight today had nothing to do with you. Just some assholes who saw a thirteen year old kid and wanted to feel superior. Loki is—“

“Loki could’ve gotten seriously fucking hurt.”

“It wouldn’t have gone that far.”

For once, Tony stays silent. He looks resigned. That, or he’s just plain tired.

—

They walk around for a big portion of the night, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. Tony, Pepper learns, doesn’t need much in terms of trust to gain companionship with others. It may be his biggest strength, but it could also be his biggest weakness. Pepper can’t tell for shit.

She learns more than she bargained for, when befriending this broken boy. He’s lived through nightmares not even adults could imagine, and the girl is positive that he isn’t fabricating these stories. These are real.

Atop the death of his dear mother, his asshole of a father, his curse of riches, his past alcoholism, non-recreational drug abuse, sexual abuse, and more? This poor kid is just Satan’s punching bag, at this point.

“What do you think?” Tony asks as they stroll along the sidewalk, phone flashlights in hand as they talk. “If Peter is alive, where do you think he is?”

The question of the hour, that’s for sure—it’s a tough one for anyone to answer.

“Maybe he’s with his Aunt,” she says, but she knows the harsh truth.

“I think he’s alive,” Tony says shortly. “But that part is what I’m trying to figure out.”

Sirens.

Police sirens, that is. The dark, silent camp is filled with the sound of loud sirens, echoing through the cabin area and the sports pavilion and the main walkway/road. Tony and Pepper watch the distant entrance of the camp in horror, as emergency cars barrel in like ants exiting an anthill. Ambulances, too.

They scramble to run behind a life jacket shed.

In the far away distance, counselors and administrators burst out of the main office and the counselor cabins, some struggling to slip on their shoes as the bolt towards the direction of where the cars are going. Whatever this is, it’s something bad.

“Let’s go,” Pepper breathes, getting up and tugging Tony by the arm.

“Wait, no!” Tony hisses. “We can’t fucking let them know we’re out here!”

“If they catch us outside while this is going on, we’re gonna be held responsible for—for whatever’s going on. Just go!”

Tony caves. They sprint towards the main road, where thank fucking god, Maria and Coulson are jumping onto a golf cart and jamming the key into the ignition. Other counselors run past and don’t seem to notice the children’s’ presence, their faces drawn in anticipation.

Maria’s hair is sticking up in all directions as she loads onto the golf cart. Her oversized button-down matches the heart pattern on her shorts. She definitely just woke up.

“Hill! Coulson!”

“Kids?” the man exclaims, stepping down from the drivers side of the golf cart. “What the—“

“Pepper?! Stark?!”

“Let’s go,” Tony interrupts, jumping onto the back of the vehicle, the red headed girl following behind silently. The adults exchange a glance before driving nonetheless.

“What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know, Phil.”

“Fucking Rumlow. Sends a red alert as if we’re not all fucking trying to sleep, as if we can drop everything in the middle of the night, and for what? An ‘emergency’ by the lake?!”

Pepper’s hair flies in the cold, humid night, the cart following the path to... what looks to be the second lake? The unused, small one, off to the side of camp, with a broken fishing boat washed up on its shore.

”I hope it’s not what they said it was,” Maria says.

Her heart, pounding in her chest. An irregular, heavy thud.

Coulson drives faster; he’s practically flooring it.

Pepper laces her cold hand with Tony’s.

He squeezes back.

When they get there, the teens hop off the cart. The blue and red lights from the police cars illuminate the forest and the surface of the water. The teens push their way past a wall of adults before they can see the commotion.

”What the hell are you kids doing here?”

”What’s going on?” demands Pepper, ignoring the officer.

”You need to leave—“

“Tony!! Pepper!!”

The Emmaus boys shove their way to the front, still shirtless and pajama-bottom clad. Counselors protest and begin to scold them, but eventually ignore them, eyes settling on the scene in the water.

The boys must have heard the sirens and began sprinting towards the lake once they saw the cars. Or, maybe, they stole a golf cart. That’s equally as likely. Nosey, as always, these idiots.

“What the fuck?”

Pepper will never forget the expression on Tony’s face—probably not for the rest of her life. As his eyes settle on the water, the red and blue lights coating his face like paint, his mouth opens slightly agape. His eyes turn big, bigger than the full moon in the sky, and his face goes a ghostly white.

”It’s the kid.”

Emergency workers—no, is it... fire fighters? What do you call them?—are knees deep in the disgusting lake water, holding out a tarp that looks like it should hold bodies.

They lift something out of the water. A small, limp shape.

Anthony Stark shatters.

“_No_!!” he screams, hot tears pouring out of his eyes and down below onto the dirt. “Peter—Pete, no, please, no—“

Thor and Bruce hold him back as he thrashes and kicks.

“Oh my god,” Clint sobs.

Peter’s body is pale. Algae covered, clothes soaked. His eyes are shut, his lips are purple. He doesn’t look... human. Almost like a doppelgänger who’s only meant to look like a dead, dead version of the boy.

Tony rips himself from Thor and Bruce’s grasp, booking it towards the water. Several officers block him from his path. “Hey, hey, hey, get back!”

Fury grabs the boy, entrapping him in his arms, too strong and too hard for him to escape his grasp. “No!! _P-Please_!”

“Stark, stop—“

“Fuck you!”

As the firefighters lift Peter out of the water, Pepper watches as all of the teenagers’ lives change before their very eyes. She watches as the sight of a dead child settles into the souls of everyone on that lakeshore, and she watches as the world shifts on its axis.

But it doesn’t seem... _right_.

She watches, with a tight frown, as Peter’s frail, limp form is placed on a stretcher and wheeled onto the ambulance. Steve and Bucky hold each other closely, shaking and trembling with each choked out sob they let out.

As the Emmaus boys sob and cling onto each other, collapsing to their weak, trembling knees, she only has one thought.

That doesn’t look much like Peter at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments keep me motivated!!! for quicker updates, please tell me your thoughts so far or ask me questions about the story!! whatever u want:)


	7. tony stark takes a swim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tony,” Pepper says, grabbing the boy’s wrist and pulling him up. He’s surprisingly heavy, for some reason. It takes her a moment to realize that’s it’s not him that’s hard to lift. It’s the cargo he’s holding onto with his other hand. “Are you okay? Are you fine?”
> 
> He flops his hair out of his face and lifts the metal box from behind him, throwing it onto the ground in a heap. Heavy. 
> 
> “Yeah,” he huffs, still gasping for air and rubbing his eyes. “Fit as a fucking fiddle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first: oh my god!!!! i’m so sorry this took a month:( school has been kicking my ass and my personal life has been uh shitty
> 
> a longer chapter to make up for it. the first part, from steve’s perspective, takes place before the events of the last chapter. everything else follows directly after, it’s pretty clear when this happens.
> 
> ALSO the end of the chapter is like reallyyyyyy important please don’t read over that

Steve was smitten. He was enthralled. He was head-over-heels for this kid—and no, it’s not just because of his dark brown hair and piercing, soulful brown eyes. It was so much more than just his looks. 

It was his charisma, his confidence. His snark and his fast moving brain that he tried desperately to conceal from the rest of the world that had betrayed him so. Steve loved watching the boy tell his stories about his asshole of a father and his horrible experiences; not because of the stories themselves, God no. It was because of that damn voice. That gorgeous laugh.

Tony Stark. 

Steve is no poet, that’s for damn sure. It’s just that whenever he saw Stark, he would be able to write sonnets based on how the boy makes him feel. Like he was a little schoolboy with a crush. It was embarrassing. 

Steve wanted to fucking die. 

How could he do that to Bucky? The love of his life, his best friend and boyfriend, the guy who’s been there for Steve since the beginning? Steve was actively betraying everything that a relationship should be built off of. Trust, complete and utter commitment, and so much more. 

It nagged at him—it made him feel incredibly, incredibly guilty for the first few days of Stark’s presence. Steve didn’t know why he was feeling this way; and it fucking killed him. He’d never had issues with being attracted to other people than Bucky before. Not even when the most perfect girl in the world, Sharon Carter, admitted her crush on Steve in sixth grade. It was the same week he had kissed Bucky at the top of the Rip Tide Rocket at Universal Studios. But Steve had remained faithful to Bucky despite that, because he knew how good he had it—he still does. Bucky is everything he’s ever wanted and more. He’s his rock. They fit perfectly, like puzzle pieces. 

But Stark is a special case. 

Steve didn’t—he would never break up with his boyfriend, alright? That’s not what he was suggesting at all. Honestly, he didn’t even know what he was doing. All he knew was that this couldn’t. Go. On. 

He just needed to get over this little—infatuation with Stark. That’s all. Then, everything would fall back into place perfectly. They’d all leave at the end of the summer and that would be that. 

Then, he noticed something... interesting. 

Bucky would stare at Tony for seconds too long, sometimes. It wasn’t in an innocent, inconspicuous way either. He stared at Tony the exact same way he stared at Steve. Like—Like he was in love, or something. 

So, obviously, something was up. He couldn’t be mad at Bucky about it, either. That would‘ve been plain hypocritical. 

A day or two went by of the same pattern before Steve decided that enough was enough. 

“Woah, woah, woah, babe,” Bucky grinned as Steve shoved him into a storage shed and against the wall, locking the door behind them. The Emmaus cabin had been walking through the camp and to the canoe station, probably clueless to the couple’s disappearance as they continued walking. “I thought we agreed that we would wait a while before—“

“Shut up,” Steve hissed, facepalming. “Just—Just shut up, Buck.”

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?! _What’s wrong_?! I think we both know what’s wrong!”

“Babe, what—“

“Stark,” he groaned, the only explanation needed for Bucky. 

The boy’s eyes grew wide as saucers, face morphing into a horrified expression as if he’s been slapped in the face. Looking back, Steve can only imagine the thoughts running through Bucky’s head. He blinked.

“Oh.” 

His hands, cupped in Steve’s, went clammy.

“Oh,” Bucky repeated. 

Steve felt bad. A part of him felt somewhat relieved that he wasn’t the only one, that he wasn’t alone. Tony had this sort of effect on the both of them. 

The other part of him felt ashamed, embarrassed about it, so he hesitated to tell his own truth. 

“I know that you like him.”

His boyfriend squeezed Steve’s hands in his, some attempt at reassurance, and it was scary. This conversation could make or break their relationship depending on how either of them react. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky wavered. His voice cracked. “I—I can’t lie to you, Stevie. I’m so... You—You’re the only one I want, _believe me_!”

“I know that. You’re the only one I want, too.”

“I promise. Look, I... I want to be with you. I literally love you more than anything. I just think that’s Stark’s only cute. Uhm, fuck—fuck, I didn’t—oh my god, I’ll just shut up, now—“

Steve pats at Bucky’s chest, tiredly. “Buck. Buck, listen to me. I’m not mad.”

“Please don’t break up with me,” he sobs. 

“I’m not—Buck, stop crying—I’m not gonna break up with you, my god. I already said that I’m not mad!”

“Why not?!”

He huffs. “Look, I... don’t know how to tell you this, babe.”

“Just tell me. It can’t be bad.”

“I don’t know if...”

“I know you, Steve, please. What’s going on?”

Steve ran a hand through his hair. 

“I like him, too,” he murmured. 

—

Buck and him had made an arrangement, of sorts. Woo Stark into liking—or at least tolerating—the both of them, while they made it extremely clear where their interest was. For the most part, their plan had gone fine. Tony was getting more comfortable around them, getting more touchy feely when it came to affection. At some point, the three of them snuggled on the floor while listening to Scott rant about how Shrek is a cinematic masterpiece. That was a good night. 

It was the same night that Tony’s sleeve rolled up just a little too high as he reached for the bag of Doritos on the floor. Bucky hadn’t noticed, but Steve sure did. 

Ugly, blotchy yellow bruises painted the boy’s olive skin. It was like they engulfed his arm, and that’s just what Steve could see a few inches up his wrist! There was probably more, and probably on the other arm, as well. 

Steve told Bucky the next day; he decided that it wasn’t his battle to fight. He’d probably end up pushing Stark’s buttons and saying the wrong things. Bucky is better about that kind of shit. 

The two had a discussion about it, apparently, and Tony had reluctantly confirmed the existence of said bruises on his arms. He had, however, utterly refused to roll up his sleeves or tell Bucky what the source of the injuries was, but Steve thinks it’s pretty obvious. No one had brought it up again; a little secret between the three of them. 

Things were going fine—it was an easy pattern. 

Until, however, Pepper Potts had thrown herself into the mix. 

From the very first day, Steve had known that Tony had an eye for the girl, that was certain. Those feelings never really left even as the days went on. Things grew tense between Steve, Bucky and Pepper when she openly admitted to Sam that she was interested in taking Tony for herself. Sam, obviously, had told the couple out of loyalty to his friends. Tony still has no clue about that whole ordeal—they never told him and he never caught on. 

Then, for some reason, the billionaire’s son became more distant in the day or so before the ‘incident.’ It broke Steve and Bucky’s hearts, not that they admitted it to anyone but themselves. Sam and Clint noticed their sorrow, however, and tried cheering them up. 

“Maybe Tony isn’t even worth it,” Clint said, wrapping a bandage around his arm from his third scrape of the week. “Come on. Since the beginning, we’ve known he was a big player, and Pepper isn’t exactly an ugly girl—“

“She’s gorgeous,” Bucky argued. “That’s the problem!”

“Did Tony even swing that way before you all?”

“He said he was bi. He’s had established relationships with boys before.”

Sam scratched his chin thoughtfully. 

“Maybe—Maybe he’s having some sorta, like, internal homophobia type of shit. Maybe he feels like he’s compelled to be with a girl, and maybe he’s scared because he’s actually falling for y’all, so he’s shooting his shot with Pepper because she’s the closest option who likes him too.”

Clint and Bucky blinked at him with an unimpressed look. 

“Hm,” Steve said, and that was that. 

—

LAST NIGHT, 4AM

“Guys?” yawns Bruce, slowly pushing his head off his pillow as the rest of the cabin groans in disruption. “What is that?”

Thor dramatically falls onto the floor with a heap. “Ughhhhhhhh—“

“What time is it?” groans Scott. 

“Four,” Rhodey says. 

“Guys,” Bruce repeats, beginning to tug his blanket off as he climbs down from his bunk. “Listen outside. What is that?”

Sirens. Loud and blaring, driving right past the cabin area, from the sound of it. Sirens aren’t an unusual thing to hear at night, really—police cars and fire trucks drive through the road right outside of the camp all the time.

Tonight, however, the sirens are loud and obnoxious, driving straight and echoing into the entire camp like a warning horn. Bruce peeks out the window. Sam does the same.

“It’s... police cars, and ambulances—shit. A lot of them.”

“I wonder what it is.”

Bucky, warily, bent down to his boyfriend’s bed. Steve had barely grasped consciousness when everyone else had, still rubbing his eyes and mumbling to himself. Bucky nudges his cheek and slides his arms under the boy’s body, lifting him up and holding him bridal style. 

“Maybe,” Rhodey says slowly, “We should just go back to b—“

“Wait. Where’s Tony?” Scott asks. 

After a pause, Rhodey jumps into his shoes and sprints out the door. 

—

EIGHT HOURS LATER

“I’m sorry,” Thor says wetly, cupping Bruce’s face in his hands as they stand by Hela’s open car trunk, all of the teenagers helping load his belongings into the vehicle. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” Bruce cries. 

Rhodey lets out a ragged sigh as he hauls Loki’s obnoxiously large suitcase into the back. 

“I’ll call, okay? And once your mom picks you up, you need to let me know. I need to know you’re safe.”

“Next week,” Bruce says. 

Thor places a chaste kiss on his forehead before turning to the rest of the group. 

The teenagers are all exhausted. They hadn’t slept since they were awoken to sirens, and Pepper and Tony hadn’t slept since they snuck out. That’s... over eight hours ago, now. Tony can’t remember anything that’s happened since then. Just a lot of scolding from Coulson and a lot of crying from everyone else.

Lots of crying. 

“I love you guys,” Thor says, opening his arms. “I’m... I’m so, so happy I got to meet you all. This was one of the... the most important summers of my life. You all made it great.”

“We love you, Thor,” Bucky grins, tears in his eyes. “You too, Loki.”

“Keep in touch. If anything else happens, let us know.”

“We will.”

The crushing group hug lasts for what feels like hours—Tony rests his chin on Loki’s shoulder, tears soaking into the boy’s green shirt as they both take comfort in each other. They’re both grieving for the same reason. Loki trembles once Tony rubs his back, the younger boy wrenching with tears as he struggles to breathe. 

“It’s going to be okay, guys. We’ll... we can do this.”

“I’ll text, okay? Promise.”

“We love you guys.”

Thor stays silent, only letting himself sniffle before breaking the hug. Everyone backs up, tucking their hands in their pockets or using them to wrap each other into more crushing embraces. Steve’s face remains tucked into Bucky’s neck, his boyfriend holding him like a baby. 

Hela slams the trunk closed, taking a drag of her cigarette. Her eyebrows are furrowed in stress. “Come on, dicks, let’s get moving. We have a long drive ahead of us.”

Bruce gives Thor one last kiss on the cheek. The taller boy smiles, solemn nonetheless. 

“Promise me,” Thor huffs as he pulls himself into the passenger’s seat. “Promise me, you all will stay safe. Make good choices. Don’t... don’t go alone, anywhere. Please. Your life is your priority, now. Protect it.”

“We will,” Clint cracks out, and then the boys are driving away. 

—

TWO DAYS LATER

There was a sort of unbalance, really, with Thor and Loki gone—the days felt dull and the sky was less colorful. Then again, everything has changed since that night. 

The police figured that, since Peter’s body was found on the property, Harley’s body must be here as well. They search day and night, sifting through the lake and digging through the forest. K-9s sniff and sniff and sniff, but never find a single trace of the kid. 

Pepper can’t lie and say she’s coping well. She’s not. The only damn reason she’s not back home in Ohio yet is because her parents are on honeymoon in Hawaii, leaving no one who could possibly admit her out that’s on her emergency contact list. That’s the case for a lot of people, actually, especially with the senior campers. But she sure as hell has never seen a bunch of teenagers act as scared as schoolchildren before now. 

The other reason she’s having the slightest ounce of bravery is because of the mantra ‘what the fuck was that thing they pulled out of the water’ that repeats in her head—echoing and festering like it’s bouncing off the walls of a cave. 

Keep in mind, Pepper is an observant person. She notices the little things, like when Clint grows a new bruise on his left knee, or when Natasha adds a new bead to her anklet, or when Tony’s under-eyes get a little bit darker due to what she assumes is sleep deprivation.

Observing is what she does best; she can certainly differentiate between leather and skin, and she can certainly differentiate between Peter’s button nose and some pointy, unfamiliar one. 

She internally debates this for a few days. Maybe she was just... imagining things. Maybe her perception was muddled due to the adrenaline of that night. But, perhaps, appearance alone isn’t the only thing she has to go off of. 

Maybe there’s something else. Something scientific. Possibly biotic. 

Bruce is pretty knowledgeable on biotic shit. 

“Wait, so... why are you not going to Tony about this? You two are way closer to each other than I am, and honestly, he’s as much of a genius if not more than me.”

“Don’t say that, Bruce,” Pepper says politely. “You’re very smart.”

“On biotech. Tony’s more of an engineer, technically speaking, which is probably more useful to whatever you need to know.”

“I don’t need Tony. I need you.”

Bruce scrunches his nose. 

“Look,” Pepper explains, motioning with her hands over the picnic table. The area was empty, the small population of remaining campers most likely hiding out in their cabins. Police had finally left for the day. “I know that I’m not the only one who thinks something was wrong about that night. I think we both have the same reason, too.”

“What do you—“

“The body,” she hisses, to which Bruce gives her a pointed look to keep her voice down. “No one’s around to hear.”

“That’s not why. I thought we all collectively agreed to not bring up the body.”

“There was something wrong with it! Didn’t you see it?”

“Of course I did, Peps, we all did! Clear as day!”

“I have a hunch,” she says, and Bruce facepalms. “No, look, listen. I saw him, up close, I saw them roll his body on the stretcher and into the ambulance. His skin—His skin didn’t look like skin, Bruce.”

“It looked fake?”

“Yes. Yes, and—and his hair. When his hair was wet, like when he was swimming, it was dark brown—since hair looks darker when it’s wet, right? Well, that night, his hair didn’t look dark brown. It looked light brown, even though it was wet. Soaking. So, conclusively, you can tell that if that body’s hair was dry, it would probably be blonde—“

“What are you saying?”

“They got his hair color wrong. That wasn’t Peter’s hair, or his skin, or his arms, or his face. That wasn’t Peter at all, don’t you get it? Couldn’t you see it?”

“Pepper, I think you’re just overthinking this.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are!” Bruce insists. “Pepper, trust me when I say I’m good with psychology. I get it, okay? I get that this was traumatic for everyone that was there—especially for you and Tony. I don’t know what happened to you guys before we got there, and I’m not going to force you all to say it. But... Peter is gone. You—Pepper, I get it. I get that you’re trying to draw a conclusion to a confusing situation, okay? But this is just too far fetched. Why in the world would that not be Peter? Logically.”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out!” Pepper huffs. “And I need your help.”

She looks up at Bruce helplessly. She knows for a fact that the boy is more aware than he makes himself out to be; he’s wise beyond his years and simply way too intuitive to not catch onto the little things. Maybe he’s just afraid to combat the situation head on. Maybe he’s afraid of confrontation in general. 

Fine. That’s fine. Pepper just has to approach this at a different angle. 

“Please,” she says. 

Bruce frowns. 

“Why don’t you ask Tony? He’d believe you more than anyone, wouldn’t he?”

“We both know that he’s not in the emotional nor mental state to handle this situation.”

It’s true. Tony’s a mess (not that it’s anything new) and everyone knows it. He doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t tell his traumatizing stories anymore, and his eyes look sadder with each passing moment. If he knew of Pepper’s theory, at least for now, he would cling onto the possibility of Peter being alive and never let it go. It would get him killed. 

“Bruce... listen to me. You’re the only one observant enough to—to know what’s going on here, at least, as much as I do. Maybe there’s something you remember about the body, or something you can tell me. I had an idea. You know things about the effect of water on human body decay?”

“Yes,” he admits. 

“After about a day submerged in fresh water, would a human body decompose to the point of the muscle and bones deforming on, say, the nose and fingertips?”

“You saw the body that close up?!”

“I saw them wheeling him away right in front of me. Anyways, answer the question. Would the appendages begin to become misshapen in only a day?”

“There’s a lot of factors in play,” Bruce says. “Water temperature, bacteria levels, all that. The water is at least room temperature in the lake, and there’s plenty of bacteria...”

“His fingers looked like they were bent backwards. They looked floppy, like there wasn’t any actual bone. It looked like... like... it was just a glove stuffed with cotton.

“Cause of death could be a factor. Maybe the kid broke his fingers somehow.”

“How would he break his fingers?!”

“I don’t know, Pepper! Okay?!”

“There is something wrong with this—oh my god—everything! These missing boys, and who the hell even found the body in the first place? Why hasn’t the camp been shut down for good yet, regardless of whether or not the parents can pick up their kids? Bruce. It can’t be a coincidence, I swear, there’s no way two boys just happened to disappear and one was found dead in the fucking lake. Maria and Phil are the only damn adults who aren’t completely oblivious and ignorant to everything going on in this shit show of a camp. I’m afraid that something bad is going on!”

A theory of hers—because it’s true. Nothing makes sense anymore. Pepper had come to camp in the beginning of the summer with the promise of life-long memories and new friendships. It had been true for a while. She was happy with the experience. Sad to go home. 

But then Tony Stark came, and everything went to utter shit. An unspoken truth. 

“Am I the only one who knows about this?”

“Of course.”

Bruce caves. He sits back down, looking defeated yet battle-ready. The girl shimmies with glee. 

—

While Pepper has run off to ‘talk’ to Bruce about something, dragging him off to the lake area and leaving the rest of Emmaus sulking in their cabin, Rhodes is left on Tony watch—much to the dismay of Bucky and Steve, who are still hung up on the kid and wanted to cling all over him again, but Rhodes could feel the tension. He gives the pouting couple a pointed look before sitting next to Tony on his bed. 

Tony’s covers are made up of 2000 thread count authentic silk. They’re a deep, dark red, almost burgundy, that have an uncanny resemblance to the color of a pool of blood. The fact that someone is able to sleep on sheets so pristine is beyond Rhodes, but he supposes it’s just an insignificant bonus of being a Stark.

“It’s like... he was, just... floating,” Tony murmurs, so quietly that Rhodes has to lean in to hear. “Or something. I don’t know. It’s like he wasn’t even heavy, or dead weight. He just looked limp. The kid was always light. All bones and skin, really. Those fire fighters pulled him out like he was a grape. Small.”

Rhodes can only look at the boy softly. There’s nothing he could say to make him feel any better. 

“I suck,” he says, dull. “I dunno. Where’s tweedle dum and tweedle dee?”

“Playing cards with Scott. They won’t hear.”

“Good.” A sigh. “You know I like them?”

“We all figured,” Rhodes says quietly. 

“I like them. I really do,” Tony grins. “But... they’re not... good for me. Jesus. They make me happy, but honestly, I can’t remember the last time my happiness came first.”

“Your happiness should always come first, Tones.”

“I wanna go home,” he cries. 

“Well—Well, Tony, why don’t you? Can’t your dad send a chauffeur, or something?”

“It’s a funny story, really. He hasn’t answered my calls. I’m blocked from Stark Tower’s phone lines. I was able to get Jarvis to block the command my dad put into place, but the employees have been ordered to not obey my requests to bring me home. Those rules were made back when my father expected me to try to escape. Honestly, I don’t even think he knows about the body.”

“That’s such horse shit,” Rhodes grumbles. 

“Welcome to my life.”

—

Tony can’t sleep. 

He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t even know why he’s as sad as he is. He didn’t know the kid for very long—but then again, he didn’t have to. It was a horrible fate for anyone, especially a child, and any decent human being would be sympathetic. 

Maybe a part of Tony saw himself in Peter. A tiny, single parent-having, charismatic genius. Or, maybe he saw what he wishes he could be; innocent, frail, humble, and content. Content with what was in front of him, even if it was as simple as a puzzle or a book that Maria gave him.

Tony has never been content with anything in his life. Nothing can seem to satisfy him, and nothing is ever enough. One of his many toxic traits, he supposes. 

Even with his partners. Sure, short skirts and high heels and tight tank tops get him off fine. Christine was no stranger to feminine clothing. But, come on, you can’t blame him for wanting a bit of a breather every once in a while! Sometimes, tight jeans and neat blazers and sculpted biceps is exactly what a guy needs. 

And—okay. Maybe he shouldn’t be so harsh on the feminine side of things. Pepper is plenty feminine. Her soft face and round hips and thin arms. She’s wonderful. 

But then he thinks about Bucky’s muscular quads, the piece of hair that dangles over his forehead like an ornament, his fitted baseball tees, and his creased and dirty air force ones. That’s hot. 

Then he thinks about Steve’s deep blue eyes, his gorgeous sun-kissed cheeks, his tiny, almost scrawny hands, and the way he’s practically engulfed in any clothes he steals from Bucky. That’s hot, too. And—

Jesus Christ, he needs to snap out of it. Get it the fuck together, Stark! This isn’t the time to be questioning romance, this is the time to be figuring shit out. Especially the cause of Peter’s death, because if anyone can do it, it’s probably Tony Stark. He’s a genius, for fucks sake, he must be able to figure this out.

But he has nothing. No clues, no leads, no traces, no evidence. Nothing to go off of. It’s like being a detective without a fingerprint. A lawyer without a case. An engineer without blueprints. 

His phone beeps. 

The night, as usual, is pitch black. He reaches behind his pillow to find his phone. It’s a text from Pepper. 

_pepperoni: You wouldn’t happen to be awake?_

_pepperoni: We need to talk. _

The most dreaded four words that any guy can hear—but alas, he shuffles out of bed and sticks a mint in his mouth anyways. 

As he walks past his bed, blindly wandering in the dark and looking for his shoes, Steve unconsciously moves in his sheets. Next to him, entangled with the other, is Bucky. They share a bed most nights. 

Tony stares at them, blinking, and he hesitates. 

He places a chaste kiss on both of their foreheads. 

—

“What did you want to talk about?” Tony asks skeptically, arm linked with Pepper’s as they tiptoe out of the cabin area. The leaves beneath their feet are loud and crunchy—one false move and they’ll be caught and punished accordingly. But, honestly, what would they even be getting in trouble for? For doing the same thing that killed others, or for almost seeing the thing that’s doing the killing in the first place?

Pepper looks down at him, analytically, but that’s not surprising. “That depends on whether or not you listen to exactly what I say.”

He blinks. 

Then he grins, but it’s all false-suave. “Wow, sounds kinky! I’m in.”

“Shut up,” she grumbles.

He follows her, trailing slightly behind the girl as she stalks down the path, almost as if she knows where she’s going. It’s whatever, he guesses, because she... must know what she’s doing. A part of him gulps in dread, with the fear that something bad is going to happen, but the other part of him expects to get off by the end of the night. Oh, alright, so this is what we about to do. Alright. Alright. He’s cool with this. 

“So, uh...” he says anyways, because consent is key. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

“And what do you mean by that?” Pepper says as she pushes a branch out of the way. Shit. They’re gonna cut through the woods. 

“I—Well, where are we going?” He sounds too nervous! Act suave, act suave!! “Somewhere with more, uh, privacy than the middle of the fucking cabins, I presume?”

“You’ve got me wrong,” she sighs. Another branch. 

“What’s there not to get? Come on, Peps, you’re a clever girl girl. I know how your mind works—we’re similar, in a sense! Burdened with inconceivable knowledge. I mean, don’t you think so too? Don’t you want to be happy?”

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“I thought I made it clear, sorry,” Tony grins, and then he pushes Pepper’s shoulders against a tree—keeping his hands planted on the bark on each side of her head, effectively pinning her. It’s a quick, practiced motion. He can barely even see her face in the dark, but he can tell her breath hitches. “I. Like. You.”

For a moment, he thinks that he’s done it. He’s finally seduced Pepper fucking Potts. 

She scoffs. 

“You can’t be fucking serious,” she says to herself, shoving Tony off of her. 

Flabbergasted, he throws his arms in the air and follows the girl as she continues walking. “I am!” he exclaims. “I fucking like you! I mean, isn’t that why we’re out here in the first place?!”

“Keep your fucking voice down!” she hisses, but her mind is elsewhere. Because as much as he can lie and say he understands her, he really doesn’t. 

He bites his lip. Before he knows it, they’re standing before a line of yellow police tape. 

“I need your help,” she says simply, finally turning to the boy and cupping his hands in hers. “And you need to listen. Carefully.”

“This conversation couldn’t have taken place near the cabins?”

“You never know who’s listening, Tony,” she says. 

Tony glances past her shoulder, trying to determine what part of camp is behind the tape. It’s too dark to see anything, though. 

“What’s back there?”

“You know.”

And he does. His heart sinks. 

“Look, Tony,” Pepper says softly yet urgently, as if that isn’t the place he’s been avoiding like the plague for days now, as if his fucking kid’s body wasn’t dug up there— “Tony. You need to tell me that you promise. You promise you’ll listen, and you won’t freak out, or try something stupid.”

“You’re freaking me out,” he grunts. 

“I don’t—Tony, I don’t think the kid is dead.”

He blinks. 

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying!” Pepper hisses. 

”This is a real fucked up... my god. That’s not cool, Potts. That’s real fucked up. You fucking...”

“Tony—“

“He’s dead,” Tony whispers, poking a finger to her chest and peering up at her, like a badger screeching at a gazelle. “Nothing we can do to change that.”

“W-What are you even talking about? I thought you would be happy about this!”

“Just. Don’t.”

“Me and Bruce have been discussing it—“

Tony turns around in bafflement, arms thrown into the air. “Oh my god, Bruce too?!”

“You seriously don’t even want to believe in the mere chance he could still be alive?”

“How do you even know that? They pulled his damn body out of the lake! He was dead.”

“I don’t think,” Pepper forces out, gripping the boy by his shoulders and shaking. Hard. “That it was Peter’s body.”

Tony recoils, an instinct of his after a long life of taking hits from people bigger than him. Her nails dig into his shoulder, a deep, seething pain, even through the thick fabric of his sweatshirt. He can handle it, though. 

Pepper sees his pained expression, and she releases her grip nonetheless. 

“Let me explain,” she says, so he does. 

—

It takes an hour. It takes an hour of swatting away mosquitoes and picking at the grass and Tony refusing to believe her, but when Pepper explains the extent of her theory, a part of Tony begins to believe, as well. 

But it’s so far fetched. And as much as Tony likes to tell himself that he’s a cunning, optimistic person, it seems as if these past few weeks have really worn him down; because he’s simply too tired to want to give himself a false sense of hope. 

Where shall they go from here? It can be easily assumed that Peter’s fake body was some sort of... cover up. Perhaps by the police, or government, or some other corporation with the means to do it. But, once the body is taken in for an autopsy, shouldn’t they be able to tell that it’s not real?

No. Maybe they would bring in someone else to do the ‘autopsy,’ someone fake. 

“You mean like in Stranger Things?” Pepper asks. “You’re thinking out loud, you know. You tend to do that.”

“A genius mind must think outside the box, Pepper,” Tony mutters. “Or, uh, outside the head.”

“Proceed, then.”

”Nah, that’s all that I have the energy for. So where do we go from here? Are we going to do something about this?”

“Maria and Coulson wouldn’t believe us. Or, at least, they wouldn’t want to believe us. Fury wouldn’t, either. Don’t even mention Rumlow. That asshole would have our heads and punish us for ‘immature behavior’,” she says. “Maybe if we found some other evidence, though.”

“Like what?”

“Well, first, we have to consider... the motive for making a fake body. Is Peter still alive and someone is trying to hide it? Or did he die in a more gruesome fashion and they’re trying to make an explanation for why he’s not around? Let’s face it; a kid supposedly drowning is less of a headline than a kid being stabbed seven times in the rib, or some shit.”

Tony looks down, feeling old beyond his years. 

“Okay,” Tony says, anyways, and begins to stand up, brushing off his jeans. 

“Where are you going?” Pepper asks. 

He promptly ignores her. “Hey, Jarvis, it’s daddy. I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you in a while.”

“Please, I’d hardly call it a burden on my part,” says the AI’s familiar, snarky voice. 

“Did we ever manage to get the metal scanner feature down?”

“You programmed it into my software around four months ago, Sir.”

He sighs. “Good. Okay, good.” Pepper follows behind him as he ducks under the police tape, using his phone as a flashlight to illuminate their path. He focuses on the watch. 

“What do you need some metal detector for?” Pepper asks.

“It’s not just any basic metal detector, Ms. Potts,” Jarvis replies, because Tony doesn’t. “I have the ability to produce a wide scan of any area and detect copper, iron, vibranium, aluminum, stainless steel, brass, zinc, chromium, and any other metals you can think of with little effort.”

“What else?”

“I display a virtual image of any of these metal objects that Mr. Stark requires, as well as the compounds of their elements and any other information I can find.”

“Jar, scan the diameter of the right side of the lake. Be sure to get deep in there, and below the bottom, as well.”

“Tony, what are you trying to find? I doubt they would hide anything we could use in the lake.”

“No one goes into this lake,” Tony explains offhandedly, watching as a hologram from the watch scans up and down the water, a bright blue against the murky green. “Especially since the incident. It’s always taped off. If I wanted to hide something of interest, I’d do it at the bottom of this lake. It’s deep, it’s alone, it’s disgusting, and it’s inconspicuous. I—Oh. Jar, we got something?”

Instantly, a holographic image of a pile of spare change illuminates above Jarvis’ watch. Tony tuts, swiping it away. “Keep going.”

”But what would they hide?”

“Maybe a weapon. Maybe a briefcase. Maybe a safe full of three million dollars. You never know.”

Jarvis finds a necklace. It has a locket in the shape of a heart. “Nope.”

Pepper stays silent, watching intently. She looks sad when Tony glances at her. 

A flute, a crowbar, a pipe, a fork, a picture frame. Nothing notable pops up for a good ten minutes. Tony gives Pepper his jacket to sit on as she yawns, retreating to the floor. It’s whatever. It’s too dark for her to see his arms. 

“Come on, Jar,” Tony hisses. “Gimme something good. Come on.”

“Maybe we can try again tomorro—“

Another scan. Tony looks at it half heartedly, but blinks at what he sees. 

A box. A steel, clean-looking case, locked shut with a padlock. It’s not covered in algae, at least, from what Jarvis can tell, and it looks freshly placed. 

“Where is it?”

“About fifteen feet deep, sir, on the south end.”

“Tony, what is it?”

“A box. A briefcase, maybe. I can’t tell.”

Pepper stands, wrapping her fingers around Tony’s wrist and pulling the hologram in close to her face. She stares it down, the blue light painting her face. 

“It was just put down there.”

“Yeah,” Tony hums. “No algae on it.”

“It might be nothing...”

“I’m not taking that risk,” Tony says. “Jarvis, I’d like to transfer all of your control to Pepper Potts—“

“Tony! What the—“

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s just for now,” he explains, ripping the watch off and strapping it onto Pepper’s pale, frail wrist. “He’s waterproof, but I don’t wanna risk damaging his software with mud or muck. While I’m at it, actually, allow Steve Rogers, James Rhodes, and Bucky Barnes to have full access to your functions for the time being. I have a feeling they’ll need it.”

“Granted.”

“Tony, are you seriously going to—“

“Hold my belt,” he says, next. “It’s gucci.”

“You’re gonna catch _pneumonia_!”

“I’m going in.”

“Tony, oh my god,” Pepper groans, watching as the boy dives into the water. 

She watches, anxiously, as Tony’s form disappears into the green. Bubbles float to the surface and pop like balloons.

She waits. She waits, for what feels like minutes but must be mere seconds, and Tony still doesn’t emerge. 

“Jarvis,” she says, shaking, “Is he—Is he fine?”

“I have faith that the young master knows how to swim,” Jarvis sasses. Just like Tony. 

It must be a minute straight of staring at the water. There’s no way Tony can hold his breath for that long! He barely goes swimming, he’s said it himself, so there’s no way he’s used to holding his breath for very long. Didn’t he used to smoke? Pepper has met smoker men who were horrible at holding their breath underwater because of their lungs. He might be drowning. He might have gotten his foot stuck on something! 

“Fuck this,” Pepper grunts, throwing Tony’s belongings onto the ground and carefully removing the watch from her wrist. “Fuck my life, fuck my life, fuck my life, I have to go in after him.”

She kicks off her sandals, carefully toeing down to the edge of the water and preparing to jump in. She builds the momentum to, but before she gets the chance to even take a breath, Tony’s hand shoots up and grabs her ankle. 

“OH MY GOD!” the girl shrieks. 

Tony’s head pops out of the water. Hair all clinging to his forehead, soaking wet, with a plant draped over his shoulder. He gasps for air. 

“Tony,” Pepper says, grabbing the boy’s wrist and pulling him up. He’s surprisingly heavy, for some reason. It takes her a moment to realize that’s it’s not him that’s hard to lift. It’s the cargo he’s holding onto with his other hand. “Are you okay? Are you fine?”

He flops his hair out of his face and lifts the metal box from behind him, throwing it onto the ground in a heap. Heavy. 

“Yeah,” he huffs, still gasping for air and rubbing his eyes. “Fit as a fucking fiddle.”

—

Tony wraps his jacket around his shoulders, despite it being covered in dirt and grass, and him not being any cleaner. That water was cold, goddammit, and it’s not like he has a shower and a heated blanket on hand. 

Him and Pepper sit in front of the box. She fiddles with the padlock, making random guesses to the numbers and failing each time. She shifts the seven to a six on the third dial. Nothing. 

“Pepper,” he croaks.

The girl doesn’t answer; but her fingers tremble more. 

“_Pepper_,” he croaks again. 

Her hands shake. She’s been struggling with the lock for half an hour. She’s covered in mosquito bites and her hair is knotty and disarrayed. In less than a minute later, her entire body trembles, her hands gripping the handle of the case as she shakes it in frustration, tugging and pulling and wrenching with tears. “Fuck this!”

Tony reaches to wrap his arms around her; he doubts she’ll care much about how dirty either of them are. They both need showers desperately. “Pepper, it—it’s getting light, the sun is rising, maybe we can try cracking the code another time.”

“We need to find him now!” she argues, few prickling from her eyes and dripping onto the metal. “We need to find him. _You_ need to find him! You need to find him, so you can find closure, and we can prove he’s alive, and then you won’t feel so shitty, and then you can go home and move on!”

“Why?” he asks, semi-hysterical. 

“Because I care about you, you fucking moron!” she cries. 

And so, Tony hugs her longer. He watches in confusion as the girl draws her knees to her chest, wrenching and grumbling to herself. 

But all Tony can think about is if the Emmaus cabin will be mad at him for hopping in the shower first. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT DO U THINK IS IN THE BRIEFCASE? TUNE IN NEXT TIME TO SEE TONY BEING A HORNY BASTARD AND BRUCE BEING A BAD ASS
> 
> also what are your thoughts on pepper:(
> 
> i love it when you all over analyze things or tell me your thoughts/theories/interpretations.... makes me uwu and keeps me motivated


	8. three documents and a bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint throws himself into Rhodey’s side, forcefully pushing him out of the way, allowing himself easy access to the reckless force of Bucky Barnes. Clint is smaller, thinner, shorter—the only reason he’s able to knock the brunette off of his feet the way he does is because, while Clint is fueled with rage, Bucky is smart enough to know the consequences if he were to seriously hurt the boy. The wrath of Natasha Romanoff isn’t worth getting the satisfaction of knocking Clint on his ass. Even Steve knows that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s been 3 months sorry :(

  
—

Rhodey pokes the box with a careful pointer finger, almost radiating a sort of bemusement, with his face scrunched up in distaste nonetheless. 

“Smells like shit,” Bucky says simply. 

Tony and Pepper, while mustering all their strength, had managed to drag the metal case all the way back to the Emmaus cabin before the sun had the chance to fully rise. They were sticky and tired and they had jumped into their respective cabins’ showers as soon as possible.

Tony had held off his cabin as soon as their alarm rang to get ready for flag raising. Upon seeing the dripping metal case laying in the middle of the floor as well as Tony’s pained expression, Rhodey had immediately called for everyone to skip breakfast and stay for a meeting. Clint called Natasha, as well, so now she’s perched on top of the cabinet looking perplexed.

“Wait... so, let me get this straight,” Bruce says irritably, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You two _snuck out_ in the _middle of the night_, went to the _body_ lake, _dived into the fucking water_—“

“It was just Tony, actually,” Pepper says. 

“And you—you found this?” he asks, hands pointed down at the... object... on the floor. “What even _is_ it?”

“We think it might be some sort of clue. To, uh, whatever is going on around here.”

“Wait. You mean, like, the missing kids?” Clint asks. 

“Possibly.”

Steve moves forward without an ounce of caution. He began fiddling with the lock, fingers grazing over the dials as the other teenagers sat a safe distance away, almost frightened. The blonde boy coughs. “Well, have you opened it?”

“No, that’s why we brought it here. We don’t know the right combination—the only way for us to open it is to use every possible combination, and there’s six digits, so...”

“You seriously want to just sit here and test out thousands of numbers?” Sam exclaims. “No way. _Noooooo_ way.”

“There’s no other option.”

“Unless we find the code on our own,” Natasha mutters. 

Bucky scoffs in an almost laughing matter. He doesn’t like Natasha very much, it seems, by the way he’s always putting off her opinions when she has something new to bring to the table. “How the hell would we do that?” he asks, “Pull one out of our asses? We don’t know whose case this is.”

“I’m just thinking out loud, douche. Maybe there’s a correlation somewhere, like... an address, or a date, or the numbers correlate to letters.”

“That makes sense,” Scott supplies, albeit a bit hesitantly. “Maybe building numbers? The petting zoo’s building number is, like... 102002. Try that.”

Pepper pulls the case towards the spot where she sits criss-crossed on the floor. After ten seconds (Tony counts. He finds himself counting seconds more and more with each passing day), she shakes her head. 

Clint purses his lips. “Try... 123456.”

“That’s not gonna work, dipshit.”

“You never know! Maybe the murderer man is an idiot.”

“As much of an idiot as you?” Bucky says cheekily. Clint flips him off. 

Making a face as if he’s surrounded by the biggest idiots in the world, Steve looks over at Tony with nothing but fatigue in his eyes. “Look, man, this is your call. You think we should take turns putting in the combinations, fine. Then that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

“Noooo!” Sam whines. “Nooooooo!”

Bruce mumbles something under his breath. “Well, if we assume that the first number could, possibly, be a zero, and that numbers can repeat...”

“How many combinations are we talking about?” asks Rhodey. 

“About, uh... Tony, wouldn’t it be one million? Have you done the math?”

Tony nods, and Sam, Scott, Clint, and Bucky simultaneously throw their hands into the air in disbelief. 

“A million?!” Scott exclaims. 

“It’s not that hard,” Tony says tartly. “If you took two seconds putting in each combination since you’d only be shifting the ‘ones’ dial, that would take... two million seconds. That’s only, like...”

“Tones, that would be over 23 days without breaks,” Bruce sighs. 

“Then, uh... what about only one and a half seconds to put in each each combination?”

“17.”

“...Okay, well... well, we wouldn’t even need to do all combinations!” he rambles, semi-hysterically. “There has to be one six digit number that works, we—we just have to find it.”

“Tones,” Rhodey says stoically, almost resigning, as he places a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Tony, there... there’s no way.”

“But we have to try!” Steve retorts, pulling Tony’s other arm towards himself. “And if putting in each individual number is the only way to do it, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Steve, you know it’s not—“

“I still say we go out and try to find it, though,” Natasha says coldly. 

“I’ll go with her,” Clint announces. 

“I will, too,” Sam offers, looking a little too desperate to get out of here. 

Shrugging, Scott sits down next to Pepper on the floor. “Uh... I can stay and, like, help with the numbers. Keep track with them, or something.”

“Thank you, Scott,” Pepper says, a small smile formed by her lips. “But you don’t have to. It’s not a job for a team.” She turns to Tony. “I can start this. I’ll start from the nine-hundred ninety-nine thousands.”

“Okay,” Scott says, but he looks relieved. How thoughtful of him.

Pepper and Bruce stay inside, probably discussing theories or numbers or god knows what. All Tony knows is that the rest of the cabin splits away and into groups as soon as they’re out the door, trying to find any six digit numbers within reach. 

  
—

“Okay, but consider this; what if, the code is a food?” Bucky points out, hand intertwined with Steve’s as they walk through the woods, following the path to the petting zoo. “What’s a six letter word... chicken. Shit, no, that’s seven.”

“How would we even put that in?” asks Steve. “I mean, based on their number order in the alphabet, N would be, like... well, above ten, so it’d be double digits.”

“Wait, really?”

“Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast?”

“I didn’t eat breakfast, bubby.”

“...Oh, yeah. I need to eat later, or I’m gonna pass out.”

“Metabolism things.”

Tony rubs his temple. He could have split off with literally anyone. He could’ve gone with Rhodey, his other half and the most logical person in the group, who’d for sure get shit done. But no, him and his stupid feelings had to go with the couple that literally shares one brain cell (that Steve has, most of the time). Go figure. 

Honestly, it’s not that bad. At least he gets to stare at them. 

“Tony, so, like,” Bucky says, turning back to address the hoodie-clad boy behind them. “How’d you even get Jarvis to do a metal scan that wide? I mean, the ones in the airports are fuckin’ huge, but even they can’t cover as much of a range as you said Jarvis could.”

Tony can feel a dopey smile begin to spread across his face. He forces himself to drop it before it’s noticeable. He can’t help it; he loves it when people ask him science-related questions with genuine, unwarranted interest, instead of asking him something like ‘_how much did your cologne cost?_’ or some shit. 

“An unused prototype from Howard’s lab,” he explains, shrugging. “I stole some code, it helped me figure out the hijinks—took me hours to figure out the right way to use the transmitter circuits that were small enough to fit in a watch but powerful enough to create a projection, of sorts, and the magnets were a pain in the ass.”

Bucky’s mouth droops, agape. “Wowwww. I don’t know what any of that means, but that’s cool. Super cool.”

Tony decides fuck all, and allows himself to smile. “Thanks.”

The leaves crunch underneath their feet as they shuffle their way down a hill. No one knows exactly where they’re going; just the objective. Find some numbers. Solve the mystery. Find Peter (maybe). Go home, forget everything ever happened and never talk to each other again. 

Yeah. That sounds like a good plan. 

And, well, Tony is sort of ‘meh’ about it. And sad. But maybe it’s just because of the prospect of the kid being alive—god, that would be so much less blood on Tony’s hands—that’s keeping him on his feet. Seriously, anyone could be next, if they’re not quick enough. 

“Hey, Tones?” Steve asks. “You’re italian, right?”

Tony nods. “Yeah, uh... my mom was half Italian, one quarter french and one quarter Chinese. My dad is full Italian.”

Bucky sputters. “You’re Chinese?”

“Like, an eighth,” Tony defends. 

“I never knew that, and I was, like, obsessed with Howard Stark when I was little. I never knew that his wife was anything but white.”

“Buck, you’re all white,” Steve points out. 

“I’m, like, two percent Native American.”

“That’s exactly something a pasty white person would say—“

“My dad didn’t like to mention it much,” Tony cuts in, not caring much to listen to bickering, at the moment. “Dunno. He didn’t want people to look down on the family. Or the legacy. Still never really understood what’s so wrong with being asian, but my mom didn’t argue. Rich white men practically run the country. Howard probably wants for me to keep that title, even after he’s gone. Seems kids racist to me, but I never said anything.”

Steve purses his lips. “One this is all over... what do you think Howard will say?”

“What? About the incidents?”

“Yeah. What would his reaction be?”

“He’d probably laugh. Take a jab at me, saying I should’ve been one of them. The usual.”

Bucky and Steve exchange glances. They don’t look upset, just... bemused. “My mom would never do that.”

The three teens get to the petting zoo. It’s the same as before, with the stench of horse shit and hay practically invading Tony’s personal space, and the chickens that peck at his feet as he passes by only give him more of a reason to be grossed out. They go inside the building, but for what reason, Tony isn’t sure. 

“My mom would be happy to see me,” Bucky adds, petting a goat named Charlotte, “But only because if I were dead, there’d be no one to help her with my sisters. She doesn’t care about me, much... she says I look too much like my dad.”

Tony flinches. “That sucks. Sorry.”

“You don’t get to be sorry. You’ve gone through more shit than me, man.”

Steve glares at his boyfriend, who doesn’t really care enough to notice. Tony does, though.

”So... no dad in the picture, I assume?” he asks, carefully. 

“Uh,” the boy pauses. “He’s basically nonexistent. Works a lot. But when he’s around at home, he’s good to me, I guess—“

“Buck, he’s such a dick bag,” Steve cringes. 

”He gives me money, though!”

“To compensate for neglecting you and Sabrina, and for making your mother miserable.”

“Well... on the bright side, they say that it you have daddy issues, you’re more likely to be gay as fuck.”

“I can vouch for that,” Tony says sourly, fidgeting with Jarvis. 

Bucky grins, a bright and blinding display as always. Just as Tony expects for him to say something amusing or even a bit crude, the boy climbs on top of the gate of the goat enclosure, swinging his foot around. 

“Buck, no,” Steve orders, before he can even turn around to see his partner being a fucking idiot. A sixth sense, of sorts, which Tony can only admire—it’s cute. He turns around. “No. You can’t ride the goat anymore, you’re not as small as last year.”

“_You_ did!” Bucky exclaims, hugging the animal and getting fur all over himself. 

“I’m a hundred pounds! You’re a fucking linebacker!”

“So you’re calling me fat,” Bucky gasps in offense. 

Steve face palms. “Tony—Tony, get him off.”

“Oh, yes,” Bucky smirks. It’s obvious where his head is. “Get me off, Mr. Stark.”

“Mr. Stark was my dad,” he swerves, tugging Bucky off the poor goat and over the fence. For a moment, his hand grazes over the taller boy’s bicep—yes, muscular as always, which is impressive for someone who only turned 15 a few months ago. Oh, yeah, he forgot; Bucky was the JV linebacker at him and Steve’s school, someone had mentioned. 

Tony has always sucked at football. Any sport, really, because his short stature isn’t what he’d call an advantage at anything athletic. He’s not a very fast runner, either. You’d think that a popular kid like him would be placed with the jock crowd, but... the debate team has always been more his style. 

(Fuck! Snap out of it, you jackass, there are lives on the line! This isn’t about you!)

Oh. Well, that voice in his head is new. Perhaps it’s stress, or maybe he’s being possessed, or maybe a talking symbiotic parasite latched onto him in the lake. Or, maybe he really is losing his mind here. 

Tony brushes his clothes off. His usual sweatshirt, which he refuses to wear anything other than, despite the heat. Everyone comments on it. He doesn’t care. 

“Numbers,” Steve murmurs. “Numbers, numbers, numbers...”

“Six digits!” Bucky reminds, too cheerfully. 

“Maybe... phone numbers... no, wait. I’m dumb.”

“You could be right about that corresponding letter thing,” Tony says, staring at the littered hay on the ground. “Why are we here?”

“It felt right,” Steve says. 

“We should snoop in Rumlow’s cabin, I betcha he has some good shit—“

“What? Like clues?”

“Or weed,” Bucky says.

Tony had taken a mental note of several things; one, each building had a building number on their sides, etched into the wood almost sloppily, and each of these numbers had six digits. All of these buildings—the cafeteria, the nurse, the gaming room, the bathhouse—except for the camper cabins.

For at least an hour, a long, boring hour, the trio wanders around and texts Pepper these building numbers. Turns out that Scott and Sam had the same idea, and basically every sequence had already failed. Tony can’t shake the feeling that they’re being trapped, or something. It’s like the case is their way out, there’s no possible way to open it. 

It gets to the point where they sit down on the grass in fatigue—backs towards the hill, peering against the main lake that sparkles in the sunlight. Normally, there would be hundred of kids splashing and canoeing and swimming in the water. It’s completely vacant now. 

This isn’t the same place it was when Tony first moved in. This isn’t even a camp anymore. It’s simply a crime scene that’s holding a bunch of kids that have nowhere else to go; an empty husk with food, air conditioning, and water. Like one of those run down communities in The Walking Dead. 

“I think,” Steve says quietly, fidgeting with a bundle of flowers he picked along the woods, “They’re closing down once the summer’s over.”

Tony scoffs. “No shit.”

“It’s been open since 1940,” Bucky supplies. “It’s probably time for it to, y’know, make its exit...”

“What a perfect way to go,” Tony says grimly. “Known as the child-killing summer camp. This place is good as gone.”

“Sad,” Steve says. 

“Why?” Tony asks.

“People are gonna lose their jobs. Maria, Coulson, Fury... this camp has been their priority since they took it over in 2005. Like, they have their jobs all other months of the year, but it’s important to them. And kids are gonna lose their getaway during the summer. People call this place their second home.”

“And what are you two doing? Once you go home?”

Bucky looks at Steve pointedly. The blonde looks unimpressed. “Eh. Probably everything as usual—we’re going into our sophomore year, Bucky’s probably gonna be moved up to varsity football, I’m gonna take AP art, maybe see Natasha in the halls...”

“What high school do you guys go to?”

“Central. It’s not far from here... maybe twenty minutes North.”

“What about you, Tones?” Bucky asks. 

Shrugging, Tony looks back to the water and slouches. “I was gonna go to Centennial High.”

“Wait! That’s our rival school!”

“Yeah,” Tony says, scoffing a bit. “They have a good robotics program... and a business academy. Well, I was gonna take either business or biotech. Howard wanted me to take business, but honestly, it’s nothing I wouldn’t be able to learn on my own. Biotech is already something I’m good at, but I want the certificate. To say I have it.”

“Why? You already have, like, everything you need for a successful future.”

“To have something of my own. That I earned, by myself.”

“I get that,” Bucky says. “But, I mean, why else do you want to go to Centennial? It doesn’t seem like your type of crowd, Tones.”

“What do you mean?” Tony asks. “If anything, Centennial has more of the spoiled rich kids and the tryhard assholes than your school does.”

“Exactly,” says Steve. 

Tony scrunches his nose. What are they talking about? What do they mean ‘not his crowd’? Obviously, Tony would fit in with the prisses and pansies better than the ‘average’ kids. It’s his nature. It’s the problem with being a Stark. 

“That’s not you at all,” Steve repeats, hand falling on top of his. “You’re nothing like them. You’re kind, and smart, and—“

“You have the biggest heart either of us have seen in a while,” Bucky adds, without much shyness, and goes the extra mile—lacing Tony’s fingers from his other hand in his own. “You’re _beautiful_.”

Yet, despite the butterflies in his stomach, he can’t bring himself to believe that the words they speak are true; how can someone such as himself be as amazing as they describe? They’re not ones to talk about other’s beauty—they’re the beautiful ones here. Steve has his heart. His eyes. His fire, blazing and spreading. Bucky has his courage, his icy charm, his strength, but not in the way Steve has. He’s headstrong and witty and gentle under it all. Tony doesn’t have anything to bring to the table. 

But even under his insecurity, Tony can’t help but contemplate the real reason that he was put into this camp. He’s not exactly a firm believer in fate, but Maria had always told him that everything happens for a reason—her own pacifistic philosophy. Howard is the opposite. A realist, someone who sees facts, and only coincidences. Tony has rubbed off on both of them. 

He’s putting on a fake facade of focus when Steve reaches for Tony’s face, pulling his gaze away from the hypnotic water. 

Maybe fate brought him to this summer camp. Maybe he was destined to meet these boys. 

(Yeah, right. Keep dreaming.)

Well, whatever. He’s glad he met them anyways, he thinks, and then Steve’s lips meet his. It snaps him out of the trance he didn’t know he was in. 

Bucky kisses him, after that. Both of them kiss sweetly—softly and simply. Steve’s lips are soft and taken care of while Bucky’s are slightly chapped and more practiced than anything. 

Tony pulls Bucky’s head a bit closer, leaning into it, but Steve gets annoyed and pulls Tony’s shoulders back towards him. Steve overestimates his own strength most of the time—instead of pulling Tony towards himself, he just pulls himself against the boy’s back, and then they all fall into a big heap, sprawled across the grass and grinning like idiots. 

“Dummy,” Bucky scoffs, sitting up and leaning over Steve’s poor heaving body. “You might overexert yourself. Punk.”

Steve rolls his eyes, then wraps his legs around his boyfriend’s torso and flips him over. “Fuck you, you were hogging. Jerk.”

“Punk.”

“Jerk.”

“Punk.”  
  
“Jer—“

“I’m still here,” Tony interrupts. “Also, they say that sharing is caring. So...”

The two stupid ass idiots glance at Tony, then at each other, then back at Tony, then they jump on top of him. 

“Jesus—“ he yelps. 

“He’s mine!”

“No, he’s _mine_!”

They wrestle for a few minutes. Steve littering kisses up and down Tony’s face, Bucky tucking his face into Tony’s neck and clinging on like a koala. The air is suddenly a lot less muggy but the grass is suddenly way more itchy. 

It’s a pleasant itch. He’s never felt companionship like this before—never felt loved, never truly felt wanted. Johnny Hammer wasn’t a true friend. Christine didn’t really love him. 

Tony feels happy for the first time in a while. 

It goes on for a while, until they’re interrupted by a cough. A familiar cough.

“Guys,” the voice says carefully. The trio looks up in alarm to the unsettling sight of a shaken Sam Wilson peering down at them. His fists are clenched at his sides and his eyes are grim. 

The mood drops, almost instantaneously, and Bucky jumps up and runs to comfort his friend. 

“Dude,” Bucky says. “I’m sorry. What—What’s wrong?”

Tony realizes that it’s not the sight of three teenage boys rolling around on the grass making out that had put Sam into such a state of shock. Not even Sam would be grossed out by that. Instead of looking sheepish or concerned, however, Tony settles on brushing the green off of his jeans and helping pull Steve up to his feet. 

Sam grabs onto Buck’s shoulders, almost as if he’s trying to find a sense of familiarity or grounding. He looks down, shaking his head. “Sam,” Bucky repeats. “Dude. Did you see something? Where’s Scott? You were with him.”

“He’s at the cabin,” Sam seethes. 

Steve blinks. 

“You found the code,” Tony says, less of a question and more of a statement. 

Yet again, Sam looks down. 

“You opened it, didn’t you?”

Sam finally looks up, gulping, adam’s apple bobbing like a buoy in the lake. 

Tony barely has enough time to tie his shoe before they’re all sprinting away. 

  
—

  
Everyone sits in a circle around Tony, anxiously. They already know what’s inside; already know the score of the game. He doesn’t understand why they won’t just tell him what’s inside—why they’re so upset. 

“Tell me one thing,” Steve murmurs to Rhodey, “It’s not... a body part.”

“Of course not,” Rhodey whispers back. 

Sparing a quick glance his jacket-encased wrists, Tony huffs. He’s more frustrated and tired than anything. “Anything I should know? Obviously this isn’t a treasure chest, right?”

Scott suddenly looks a lot younger. “You’ll see.”

He says ‘fuck it’ and caves—it only gets worse from here. It’s heavy, quite so, and his arms almost strain from lifting the cover. Pure titanium, most likely. 

Clint braces himself, cringing. “My god...”

Straight away, Tony is relieved that there’s nothing too concerning from what he sees so far. On the top of the pile are three yellow files; the ones you would find in any average filing cabinet. Tony carefully grabs them, opening the first one slowly. Maybe it could be personal camper information, or business details, or rent bills... it could be anything. 

Upon opening the only page of the first file, it’s like a punch to the gut. 

Attached is a small, off-guard picture of a little boy with auburn hair—pale, freckled and big-eyed. Tony doesn’t recognize him at first, due to the fact that he never really saw him up close when he was still around. Upon looking to the information at the side of said photo, it’s only confirmation that the boy is the late Harley Keener. 

Birth date, blah blah blah. Sometime in 2011. Young. Date admitted into camp, June 29th. Hair color, eye color, ethnicity, all basic information that doesn’t raise red flags. 

But then, he sees it. 

_Status: Deceased._

A huge, huge blow that makes his stomach sink down to his feet. Bucky is sitting next to Tony, and upon reading the same two words, snatches the folder away to get a closer look. “Bucky,” Tony exclaims. “Give it back!”

“There’s no way,” Bucky says desperately, almost laughing to himself. “S-Status, deceased. Details...” He brings it closer to face and reads lower. “Handler; Brock... Brock Rumlow. Detained at 3:28 in the morning on July 9th. Cause of death... cause of... it...”

“Spit it out, Buck,” Steve commands, but it’s no use. Bucky is far past shaken; his eyes are swelling with redness already and his hands are trembling. Tony sighs and takes the folder out of his hands. 

“Cause of death,” he continues, “Blunt force head trauma. In parentheses, crowbar.” He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to center. It fails to calm him down but he keeps going anyways. “Relationship with the target—_what the hell is the target?—_uh... none.”

“Open the next one,” Bruce says impatiently. 

“Brock Rumlow,” Tony hisses. “Brock Rumlow has something to do with—_with all of this.”_

“Duh.”

“You’ve only scratched the surface.”

Tony swallows, putting Harley’s paper to the side and opening the next one. The difference between Harley’s file and this next file is that, while the first was only a page long and barely held much information, the one resting in Tony’s shaking hands is much thicker and much heavier. It’s intimidating; it’s terrifying. 

The picture of Peter Parker should have been a given—it shouldn’t make the the bile rise up in Tony’s throat, but it does.  
  
Upon first glance, the kid looks... he looks the same. Tony didn’t have any pictures of the kid from before he disappeared. He hasn’t seen his face since the night before, and he can’t lie and say it’s not a good feeling to see his chubby cheeks and doe eyes again. 

But it’s not. 

Harley’s picture was off-guard. He was still... just a kid, smiling and eating one of those cheap ice cream cones from the snack shack. The sunlight was golden and shined on his face. It was taken at the camp; it was taken like any ordinary picture. 

Peter’s, however, is far from that. 

His face—God, his face, it’s a ghostly white—Tony can’t tell if he’s pale in general or if it’s because of the obnoxiously bright artificial lighting. His nose is bloody, dried and staining his upper lip. He’s not sporting his signature smile, he’s just... there. He’s not frowning, but he’s not happy. His mouth is a straight line, emotionless and pained nonetheless. His hair is matted and dirty, a ratty nest that was once a fluffy cloud. 

And his eyes? His eyes are a different story. 

His eyes aren’t bright anymore. His eyes aren’t beautiful anymore. His eyes are fucking dull, half closed with the darkest circles under them as if he’s an old man in desperate need of sleep. He looks so much older. He looks so in pain. 

Tony can’t help the gut wrenching sob he lets out, as embarrassing as it is—Rhodey grabs his shoulder in an effort to calm him down. “Tony—“

“Fuck off of me, Rhodes,” the brunette says, voice cracking. “I’m fine.”

”Is he alive?” Steve asks. 

“Yes,” Pepper answers, before Tony even has the chance to read it. It’s a small omen, in the grand scheme of things, but it’s still good. The kid is alive. Relief. It washes over him, almost like the disgusting water from the lake last night. 

“Yes, he’s alive, but... Tony, read the reports on the third page. Out loud.”

So he does. “R-Report. Was lured out of his cabin at 4:01 in the morning of July 15th under the pretense that... Stark was injured and needed help. _Cries profusely_. Fractured wrist that he won’t allow anyone to examine. Bruises on his back from being reprimanded by... by Rumlow.”

Shaking, wrenching with shallow breaths, Tony has no choice but to drop the file in his lap and hide his head in his hands. It was Rumlow. That—that fucking—that _asshole_ is to blame—

“Day 2,” he continues after that, eyes burning as they read the worst thing they’ve ever had to, “Still cries profusely. Was given water but refused any. Constantly cries about Stark. More conditioning required.

“Day 3. Has become more quiet after his conditioning sessions. His arm has been treated, albeit not well enough to heal properly. His...”

Tony can’t help the pure numbness that washes over him when there’s no more text to read. He shuffles, looking through the other papers for a continuation of the third report, but there isn’t one. “It cuts off.”

“I think that’s when they stopped and put these at the bottom of the lake,” Clint says. 

“But why would they stop?” Scott asks. 

No one has an answer. Tony frowns, and then goes to the next file. What could be inside? There’s no other kids who have gone missing, yet, so if it’s some sort of data collection like the others, who would it be about?

Honestly, the name ‘_Anthony Edward Stark’ _written in bold at the top isn’t exactly a shock. 

—

“They want to kill him!” Pepper exclaims, sobbing, clinging to the front of Rhodey’s shirt like a madwoman who just lost something very, very important to her. 

Steve and Bucky stand there, almost awkwardly, along with the rest of Emmaus. Tony had left the room with Bruce—things had gotten too overwhelming for him to stand, and he had left the room before anyone could see even a single tear drop. 

The third file was a fucking doozy, that’s for damn sure. Steve only caught a glimpse of a few paragraphs from over Tony’s shoulder—the boy had only muttered a few sentences aloud, too engulfed and focused to care much about making sure everyone else could hear. Even then, the details were clear; information on Stark Industries, the fight with Johnny Hammer at the beginning, and even some points about Nick Fury’s ‘relationship’ with Tony—Steve hadn’t even known there was a mutual trust thing going on between the camper and the director. It was a surprise to everyone, but especially to Tony. He had no idea how anyone knew about the arrangement, considering the fact that Rumlow had left the room beforehand. 

But get this; it gets even weirder. 

The file with Tony’s name was so filled with papers that it wasn’t able to close all the way. It was filled with daily reports, and trust him—when Steve says it was a lot, it’s an understatement. Even down to what Tony had eaten for each meal every single fucking day, who he interacted with at each activity, and more. It’s horrifying. 

And that’s not even to mention the bag. 

The bag. It was the only other thing inside of the case, and the contents were obvious as soon as Tony opened it and the stench of iron was released into the air. Pepper was the first to open the bag, but she only got a glimpse inside before freaking out and throwing it back down, according to Sam’s account. 

Peter’s clothes. Splattered with dark, dried blood, reeking of iron and mold. Tony had stared at the blue t-shirt for a minute straight, red dots littered down the front, before shoving it back into the bag and hiding his head in his hands. 

But it had only confirmed that Peter’s death was a hoax. Peter’s ‘body’ was lifted out of the lake and carried away, clothes and all. So, why are his clothes now completely dry and disposed of? The police department would’ve kept his clothes. They wouldn’t have hid them at the bottom of the same lake he was found dead in. 

Pepper repeats herself. “They want to kill Tony. Why else—why else would—fuck! It just doesn’t make sense! Why else would he be in that file? Why else would his cabin name be the password?! Why else are they—_whatever they are_—stalking him?! They want him dead!”

“We don’t know that,” Rhodey says. 

“Of fucking course we do,” Bucky screams. “_Harley_ is dead. Wherever he is,_ Peter’s_ close to it. Tony has to be next!”

“We can’t jump to conclusions.”

“Barnes is right,” Natasha hisses. “Look. Ever since Stark came to this damn camp, everything has gone to complete and utter horse shit! If it weren’t for him, people would still be alive. Innocent kids would still be alive!”

“Don’t you fucking _dare_, Romanoff,” Bucky retorts. “This is not his fault.”

Scott whimpers from behind the chaos. “Uhm...”

“Oh, shut up, Barnes! You only think that because you wanna get in Stark’s pants!”

“Go suck off Clint and leave Tony alone,” he scoffs, “Fucking bitch.” 

Before he can say much else, Clint shoves Bucky in the chest. 

Something inside of Steve sparks with rage when it happens. It’s a sixth sense; knowing when his boyfriend is in danger and the instinct for him to be angry as well. He watches, heaving, as Bucky stumbles back a foot from the impact. It happens quickly. Bucky shoving Clint back, Clint pulling his arm back for a punch. “Fuck you, asshole!”

Rhodey immediately jumps in between them, thank god, because Steve knows that he sure as hell wouldn’t have been able to hold back Clint or Bucky’s wrath on their own; let alone both at the same time. “Hey, hey, hey, knock it the fuck off—“

“Stay out of this!”

“You’re both being idiots!” Scott exclaims. “All of you! S-Stop fighting!”

Clint throws himself into Rhodey’s side, forcefully pushing him out of the way, allowing himself easy access to the reckless force of Bucky Barnes. Clint is smaller, thinner, shorter—the only reason he’s able to knock the brunette off of his feet the way he does is because, while Clint is fueled with rage, Bucky is smart enough to know the consequences if he were to seriously hurt the boy. The wrath of Natasha Romanoff isn’t worth getting the satisfaction of knocking Clint on his ass. Even Steve knows that. 

However, the difference between Steve and Bucky is that Steve doesn’t give a shit. 

It isn’t until Bucky hits the floor that the smaller boy lunges at Clint, jumping on his back and kicking and thrashing, much like a monkey attacking a gazelle. Sam, who’s the type of person to always itch for a fight, joins in and fucking whoops. Clint screeches, Scott rambles and begs Steve to get down, and Natasha watches with poison as Bucky gets to his feet. 

Rhodey pulls Sam away from the brawl, not able to do much else. No one notices as the door creaks open, the humidity of the outdoors seeping in, the wide eyes of two boys taking in the sight. 

“Stop it!” Pepper screams. “_Stop it_, you two!!”

The cabin shakes as Clint walks backwards into the wall, slamming Steve’s body into the wood. He grunts. 

“Fuck you!” Steve growls. 

“Get the _fuck_ off of me, Steve,” Clint shouts. When Steve doesn’t move, just remains perched on his back; legs wrapped around Clint’s stomach and arms practically choking his neck, he groans. “Dude! Get off! I can’t—you’re so annoying, I can’t _breathe_!”

“Don’t fucking touch my boyfriend!” Bucky screeches. 

“Don’t fucking touch _MY_ boyfriend!” Natasha screeches back. 

Pepper, resigning herself to the side in a fit of exhaustion, watches as Bruce closes the door behind him and Tony with a concerned expression. Tony looks completely and utterly horrible, his nose red and sweatshirt soaked with tears, with a twisted frown to match. 

“Bruce,” the boy murmurs, Pepper barely able to hear under the commotion. “_Loud_.”

It breaks her heart. She realizes what the past few days have done to this boy; what started as a spoiled asshole with a heightened ego and a superiority complex has been completely ripped to shreds and broken to the bone. When Pepper first met Tony Stark, she didn’t care—didn’t know him. She never thought she would. She never considered the possibility of what this boy could become. 

And what has he become?

This is a damaged boy; run over by a truck full of emotional damage and dragged along for the ride. His eyes are older and his heart is younger. He’s not the same kid he was three weeks ago, that’s for damn sure—normal kids don’t feel responsible for the deaths of other kids that they didn’t even know a month ago. 

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly, but his chest is heaving in anger. “Okay, Tones.”

He stomps his way through the fight, Pepper watching as Clint twirls with Steve on top of him, like a mechanical bull trying to throw a poorly coordinated cowboy off its’ back. 

Grabbing a glass beer bottle (a few nights ago, Sam and Tony had stolen it from Maria Hill’s personal alcohol stash in the counselor cabin) from the dresser, Bruce doesn’t give as much as a warning before smashing the damn thing against the wall. 

It shatters, no surprise there, leaving a loud and deafening cracking sound echoing across the room. Clint squeaks in fear, Steve’s eyes go as wide as saucers as he’s dropped to the floor, and Sam jumps to the ground with his hands covering his head. It’s almost inappropriate that Pepper has to hold back a laugh. Everyone else stands, frozen, staring at Bruce as he huffs. Glass litters the wood floor and Clint tiptoes around it to get out of Bruce’s terrifying watch. 

“Fuck you guys,” Bruce growls, huffing and huffing as his face goes red. “People are fucking dying. Tony could be next. _All_ of us could be next!”

“Don’t say that,” Pepper cracks out, quietly.

“We _all_ fucking know that what I’m saying is true. Why else would the password be what it is?”

“Wait, what was the password?” Bucky asks.

“You don’t know what the fucking password was, Barnes?” Natasha scoffs. “It was_ ‘Emmaus._’ In number form—we referenced a phone keypad and plugged in the letters to get the corresponding numbers. The code was 366287.”

“I don’t think it was a coincidence that our cabin name was the password,” Clint adds sourly. “We’re being targeted.”

“And it’s my fault,” Tony says coldly. 

“It’s not Tony’s fault,” Rhodey says. “It is _not_ and will _never be_ his fault that he’s a Stark. That must be why this is happening, they’re—whoever they are—they must want something from him. Maybe his money, or his name, but it’s _not his fault_.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that his life is in danger.”

“Well, that doesn’t change the fact that Peter is alive,” Bruce says. “Wherever he is, he’s alive, and we _need_ to find him.”

“We don’t even know if he’s alive!” Argues Scott, for the first time. “Look, we all cared about the kid, but that doesn’t mean we should all risk our lives for the slim chance he’s out there somewhere. Rumlow has him going through it. Even if we did save him, what good would it be for?”

“You’re right, Scott,” Sam says. “Why should we die for some kid?”

“Fuck you,” Tony spits. 

“You’re such a coward, Sam,” Pepper scoffs.

He flips the both of them off. 

—

  
Jasper Sitwell is enraged. 

“The box,” he says, probably for the millionth time in the conversation. “You—You stowed it at the bottom of the lake.”

“Correct,” Rumlow grumbles. 

“And somehow,” Sitwell hisses, rising from his chair. His glasses are perched on his nose, his bald head glistens in the darkness of the office, and his snarl is apparent. Rumlow isn’t intimidated in the slightest. “This... f-fourteen year old boy and his little girlfriend managed to find out its location, dig it up, and slip out of your watch—in less than one night?!”

“You assume correctly.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “No. No, it seems as if you don’t understand this, Brock. The box with the—the information. The clothes. The important one. You lost it.”

“Oh, no, I understand you correctly. I lost it.”

“You lost the box.”

“Well, it wasn’t particularly my doing, Sitwell. Stark and that girl. Potts. They did it.”

“Two children.”

“Two children who, surprisingly, have a _lot_ more courage than you would have had at their age. Besides, one of them is the smartest teenager in America with a damn watch that can do anything.”

“You lost the case to some rich brat and his girlfriend.”

“Not his girlfriend, actually,” Rumlow says. “I suspect he may be queer.”

“I don’t fucking _care_ if the brat is queer!” Sitwell roars, bursting out of his chair like an erupting volcano as he slams his fists on the desk—he’s practically smoking in rage. “You know what this shows me? It gives me a taste of your incompetence. Howard Stark gave us _clear_ instructions, you fucking moron, and if the Emmaus brats find out about Hydra, we’re screwed. No money. No deal with Howard Stark.”

“Howard Stark is the asshole paying us to do this to his own kid. I don’t think he’s a good example of what to follow.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that the Emmaus cabin being involved doesn’t change shit. If anything, we get rid of em’ and plant some more replica bodies in the lake. Just like Peter. Maybe frame Fury to be some sort of child trafficker, get him arrested, then the kid is ours.”

Sitwell grumbles something to himself. He sits back down, deeply sighing, glass of bourbon in hand. 

“Okay,” Sitwell says, slowly, “What we need to do next is cut off one of Stark’s acquaintances.”

“You mean kill another kid?”

“Preferably a teenager, if you catch my drift,” he shoots back. “Can you handle that?”

Brock smiles. 

“Done and done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woahhhhhhh crazy

**Author's Note:**

> leave your thoughts in the comments :)


End file.
